


The Wisdom of Wildflowers

by Water_Nix



Category: Glee
Genre: Character Death, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-25 10:48:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Water_Nix/pseuds/Water_Nix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been ten years since Kurt set foot in the halls of William McKinley High School, but the death of a friend has him headed back to Lima and spending time with his old friends. The week brings sorrow, reminiscences, love, and maybe the chance to mend the tears in old relationships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This past October I watched the film _The Big Chill_ and found out shortly afterwards that a good friend of mine from high school had died. I started plotting this out after flipping through my yearbook, thinking I would likely never get around to writing it. I was wrong, as I generally am. It's complete and I will be posting chapters once or twice a week as I edit. Many thanks to Keri for being my beta and Allie for pre-reading and cheering me on.

**One**

_And now, theatre fans! As you know the Tonys are this Sunday, and this just in – Broadway sweetheart Rachel Berry will no longer be attending, citing a family death as the reason for cancelling her appearance. She is the favourite to win_ _Performance by an Actress in a Leading Role in a Musical_ _for her role in the new smash hit,_ Love, Regardless _..._

Kurt flicks off the television with one hand, stuffing his itinerary into the front pouch of his satchel with the other, and slumps back against the couch cushions. He tosses the TV remote onto the coffee table and reaches out, his fingers finding the hard corner of a red covered book. He fiddles with it, waiting. He feels like all he's been doing over the past four days is wait. Waiting for Rachel. Waiting for confirmation. Waiting for the day of his flight so he can go home and see everyone and make it all finally, definitively real. Not that he wants that, just the opposite in fact. He wants to wake up right now, having fallen asleep watching late night trash TV, and it all to have been a terrible, horrible, saddening dream. He would be able to wipe away the stains of tears that never seem to leave his cheeks, not since he'd gotten the call. Maybe then he could feel normal again, and not like someone has taken a metal scoop and hollowed out a part of him that can never be filled again.

He fiddles with the book some more, turning it face up and the right way so he can read the ugly font – a tacky gold with too much flourish. He wonders what the book would have looked like if she had taken her responsibilities seriously that year. How she would have reconstructed it – slightly manic... definitely colourful. He smiles a little. He finds that it hurts his face. He picks the book up, turning it over and over between his fingers before slipping it into his bag next to his itinerary.

Rachel finally emerges then. She doesn't make a grand entrance. There is no dramatic sweeping or words that try too hard to be elegant. He had been expecting that, but not this. She is tinier than usual and this more than anything makes him want to look after her. He gets up and takes her bag. She nods her thanks and they step into synch, wordlessly heading past the stacks of moving boxes lined along the walls and making their way to the door.

The ride to the airport is stuffy – the cab windows shut firm against the threat of rain. Kurt feels overwhelmed. It's difficult to breathe with the humidity and the driver's strong cologne and Rachel squeezing his hand, silently asking him to make things okay. He squeezes back. He needs someone to do the same, but he will wait his turn. He knows he will have a pinch hitter once they arrive at JFK.

Quinn meets them as they are checking their luggage, a shadow of herself. They all embrace; a group hug of teary-eyed misfits. Rachel sobs against Quinn's shoulder while Quinn pats her and stares into the distance with dark rimmed eyes that focus on nothing. Kurt wishes he knew what to say, but all he can do to comfort them is hold back his own tears and take each of their arms in turn. Holding back tears is something he's trained himself to do and do well. He's had years and years of practise.

Their flight is announced after well over an hour of sitting in the uncomfortable vinyl seats of the pre-boarding area, half-drunk coffees growing cold in their hands. “At least there's no delay,” Quinn says as she gets up from her seat, grabbing her bag and readying her phone and passport. Kurt nods and follows after her, Rachel bringing up the rear.

He stares out of the window as the plane begins taxiing down the runway, the steward giving a mostly ignored safety instruction four rows in front of him. Rachel and Quinn are sitting across the aisle. Kurt is relieved to be left alone with his thoughts for the next hour and a half. He needs to gather himself, ready himself for what's to come. He'd agreed to sing when he'd gotten the call; how could he decline such a request? But he doesn't feel ready. Not yet. And so he stares outside at the splashes of rainwater as they splat against the tiny oval window, streaking longer and longer the faster the plane goes until it begins to lift off from the ground, leaving only thin, angry trails that look a lot like tears.

Rachel is asleep, her head practically in Quinn's lap while Quinn rests hers against the cool glass of her window. Kurt would think her asleep as well, if not for the steady stroking of her fingers through the long, dark locks of Rachel's hair. He sighs to himself and turns back to the grey cloud cover. He wishes he could sleep as Rachel does, though he doesn't want to be visited by the dreams that have been plaguing him since Mercedes called him at work on Tuesday. He sees them at night, sees them as they once were – young and full of hope and so ignorant to the reality of the world outside of their own small town. He sees _her_ , always bright, every strange thing she ever uttered suddenly taking on a sliver of meaning, no longer harebrained and foolish, but full of wisdom and forethought. Mystery.

“If I could have a single wish, I would make you sing for me,” she had said one day when Kurt was sad, depressed after having been rejected from NYADA, not sure what he was going to do. He had worried then that he would never be good enough. Though he'd thought she was only trying to make him feel better, her eyes had been without traces of platitudes. She'd probably only wanted him to sing, nothing more. He hadn't. But now, after ten years, she will finally get her wish.

He sighs and shifts in his seat. The humidity always makes him nauseous when he flies and he's tired of all of the grey outside the window. He reaches into his satchel for this laptop, his hand bringing up against the red book. He slides it out slowly and traces his fingers over the golden font on the cover.

The grad photos are near the back. He flips right to her without thinking it through, her bright smile matching the dim one that spreads across his face at the sight of her. All around her picture and stretching to the bottom of the page is her bubbly, purple scrawl:

_Hey Kurt! :)_

_Even though I'm not graduating it's pretty cool that they still let me have a picture here. It's too bad you're not on this page with me – it could be the unicorn page! You get to be next to Finn though so I guess that's ok. You and me and Santana and your little elf Blaine should have a page together where we can have ladykisses and boykisses and pictures of cats and things that sparkle. But not golf, because Santana says she doesn't appreciate being asked to join that team just because she's lebanese._

_Anyways – you'll always be my perfect unicorn and favourite ex-boyfriend. Even Lord Tubbington likes you and he thinks most people are peasants. We will always be special horned friends even when you move to heaven with Rachel and I join a team of ninjas to take down everyone who makes you feel sad. I love you Kurt. You will forever and always be one of my most special friends._

_xoxoxo,_

_Brittany!_

He's still smiling a little, though a few rogue tears have leaked from the corners of his eyes. He studies her signature for a moment, and then her eyes, her smile, the waves of her blonde hair. She is lovely. Was lovely. He sucks in a ragged breath and flips through the pages.

He ends up near the back on a black and white spread with a large, square photo of him and Blaine, entranced with one another on the bleachers at one of Finn's football games. He hadn't noticed it being taken. Hadn't noticed anything but Blaine's sweet eyes and the way he had to drink his hot chocolate with his left hand because he hadn't wanted to let go of Kurt's hand with his right. He smiles a little sadly, tracing their faces and down to their joined hands which he can't make out, but knows are there just the same. Blaine's dark, slanted writing fills up the space around the image, cutting across the header and through all of the empty space on the page.

_My Dearest Kurt,_

_Well, you did it! You once told me your first priority was to finish high school and get out of Lima, and now you're nearly on your way! I'm so, so proud of you – of all your accomplishments, and all of your grace in dealing with the people who tried to keep you down. You're amazing, Kurt. I am wholly and truly humbled and blessed to have you in my life. I thank goodness every day for your terrible spying skills and for the fact that you chose me out of everyone on that staircase at Dalton to ask what was going on. I love you more than I ever believed to be possible. You are the love of my life and I cannot wait to get started on our next adventure._

_I know my words are severely lacking; as you know I do so much better with the words of others. And seeing as this is a book and I can't sing to you from its pages, I'll just have to leave you with a few of those words. Written by Elton John, but from my heart:_

_So excuse me forgetting but these things I do_  
You see I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue  
Anyway the thing is what I really mean  
Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen 

_And you can tell everybody this is your song_  
It may be quite simple but now that it's done  
I hope you don't mind  
I hope you don't mind that I put down in words  
How wonderful life is while you're in the world 

_With all of my love forever and ever,_

_Your boyfriend,_

_Blaine_

Kurt had forgotten about this message; blocked it from his mind perhaps. It's been years since he's even cracked open this book. He stares down at the endearment, the promise, the love. It's been ten years. Ten years since they'd broken up – a terrible cold night in a park, Kurt's nose tingly and red and running when he got home, nearly sick with how hard he was sobbing. In ten years the fluttery feeling should be gone from his stomach. In ten years he shouldn't still feel a stab of pain in remembrance of broken dreams and time wasted on planning a life that never happened, that disappeared with four soul-crushing words. He shouldn't still care. He shouldn't still wonder, imagine what if. He doesn't usually; he doesn't dwell. But at times like this he feels mostly confused by feelings that never really went away as he grew out of his teens and well into his twenties.

He thumbs through some more, stopping when he finds their page: New Directions, National Show Choir Champions of 2012. He's about to see all of these people again. All but one. The lost girl.

He closes the book and holds it to his chest, turning back towards the window and the grey outside. It's only fitting. Even the sky is weeping.

Burt meets them in Dayton. Kurt had offered to rent a car and drive the three of them home to Lima, but Burt had insisted. He knew how upset they all were, he'd said. He didn't want Kurt driving.

He's a sight for very sore eyes and Kurt melts into him, presses his face into his warm, soft shoulder and holds on like he's just a kid again. The comfort of his father makes his breath hitch. He's a safe place. A safe place to break down. Kurt sucks it in instead and pulls back, blinking away the threatening sting of tears. Burt eyes him knowingly and takes his bag, greeting the girls and loading their luggage onto a cart to take to the car.

The house smells like Carole's perfume and a bit like the shop. As he unzips his boots and straightens them on the mat he can feel his father's eyes on him, taking stock, checking that he looks whole, not too damaged. He wishes it was due to the circumstances of this particular visit and not something that is commonplace, but he knows that is not the case. This is a ritual of theirs, Kurt and his dad, and Kurt is used to being contemplated with sad eyes like a fine toothed comb. Burt lets out a melancholy sort of sigh and turns away from his study, wheeling Kurt's suitcase into the hall. He hadn't liked what he found. He never usually does. Kurt supposes that it's only natural for his father to see through to the heart of him and how empty he is inside; he is the person who knows him best after all, and someone who has been intimately acquainted with loneliness.

It's just the two of them. Carole has gone out to dinner with Finn, probably to give them some space to talk. They sit down on the sofa with sandwiches and coffee and flip on the television. It isn't long before the food is abandoned and Kurt has slipped down, head resting on his father's shoulder, Burt's arm wound around his back.

“I liked that girl,” Burt says, his voice gruff with emotion. “She was kooky and sweet.”

Kurt nods against the fabric of his dad's shirt, now damp under his face.

“You doin' okay, kid?”

“Not really.”

“That's okay... That's okay.”

Burt's fingers card through his hair and he feels like a small child. It's comforting the way nothing else ever is.

  
  



	2. Two

**Two**

 

The church is packed, overflowing. There are even people standing, huddling near the back and leaning against the walls up either side. Kurt feels a sense of stage fright, looking back at the crowd from the first pew where he sits with Rachel, Quinn and Mercedes hovering around him like sad little birds. He has been trying to avoid looking over across the aisle to where Santana sits, devastated, next to Mr. and Mrs. Pierce and Brittany's little sister, Stephanie. When he does chance a quick glance across, they make eye contact. There are tears falling in large drops down from her bloodshot eyes. Kurt sucks in a ragged breath and gives her a commiserating look. What a farce. As if he can even begin to understand what she is going through. He's not a good enough actor to even pretend.

 Puck is sitting behind him and he claps a hand on Kurt's shoulder. “It's good to see you, man,” he says quietly and Kurt gives him a wavering smile.

 He's about to turn back around, Rachel tugging insistently on the sleeve of his jacket, when he spots a pair of familiar golden eyes a few rows behind Puck. Blaine sees him as well and his mouth twitches up at one corner in a sad little smile. Kurt smiles back and nods his head before turning to see what Rachel wants with him, the knots in his stomach twisting and tying into more and more intricate shapes.

 Her tugging, apparently, was to get his attention for the minister is standing at the pulpit and attempting to gather the attention of the room. After a moment of shuffling and sniffles and throat clearing, a hush falls over the congregated mourners.

 The minster welcomes them all and speaks for a while about Brittany and her family, about how happy she would have been to see so many people who love her spilling from the church in such numbers. Kurt tries to pay close attention to the words, but he finds his mind drifting as Rachel clutches him, her body already shaking with suppressed sobs. Quinn, who was by every right closer to Brittany than Rachel was, sits on Rachel's other side, tall and straight, holding Rachel's trembling hand on her knee and keeping her face blank as she stares ahead at the sprays of multicoloured roses.

 “Now,” the minister says, “this is a rather unorthodox service, as our honoured one, the lovely Miss Brittany Susan Pierce herself, has prearranged every moment. So here she is with her own words for all of you, those she loved and who loved her best.”

An image projects on the large screen as the minister slips away, Brittany taking shape, huge and bright and smiling. She waves from the wall of the church and Kurt hears a few distinct sobs coming from his right. He knows one of them, feels it shatter his heart with its absolute and utter brokenness, but he can't force himself to turn in its direction.

“Hello everyone,” the image of Brittany greets them. “Thank you for coming to my funeral. I'm sure there are lots of you 'cause I have so many friends. I love my friends.” There are a few titters and some mumbled  _I love yous_  and Brittany grins as though she can hear them. “I wanted to be here with all of you – and of course I will be, though nobody will be able to see me without any super cool Whoopi Goldberg powers, which none of you guys have, so... A video seemed the best. First I just want to say – please don't be sad. I've been sick for a long time and everything is okay now. I came to say goodbye and you guys can cry if you feel like you need to, but after you leave here, I want you to have a party. Dance. Sing. Have fun. That's how I really want you to remember me.”

 A calico cat comes on the screen, meowing and butting its head against Brittany's arm. She smiles down at it and adjusts her position so it can curl up in her lap. “This is Captain Piddlywinks. Say hi!” She makes the cat wave at them and around the room are wet sounding laughs as Brittany smiles and the Captain looks on, disgruntled. “Now, since the introductions have been made... I want to talk to you about my family. My extended family. When I was in high school, I joined glee club and those guys went on to become my best friends and my family. I hope you are all out there, that you came when you got calls from Mercedes and Puck, and maybe my beautiful Santana if she wasn't too sad. A few of you are going to come up and speak now, so I would like to introduce you to two of my oldest, best friends, Quinn and Mercedes.” Brittany motions with her hands like she is showing a prize on a game show and Quinn and Mercedes get to their feet, walking to the pulpit as the video cuts out behind them.

 Kurt knows what they're going to say, had helped them with it, Quinn curled up next to him on his sofa with Mercedes over Skype, all of them trying and failing not to cry. It was Mercedes who told him Brittany had requested that he sing, but he refused to practise the song until the apartment was clear of people. He broke down sobbing more than the first few tries.

 They both stand together, wet eyes and cracking words, but they manage to hold each other up. Kurt suddenly wishes Rachel was singing with him so he would have the same solidity to get him through. He worries that his voice will give out or he will forget how to play the piano. Rachel's lips press daintily against his cheekbone and she takes his shaking hands into hers. She knows him, all of his insecurities. She knows them better than anyone, has been privy to them most over the years. He holds her hands just as securely as she holds his. They are nearly the married couple they had once jokingly added as their relationship statuses on Facebook not long after their dual disastrous breakups.

 Quinn and Mercedes finish their speech, their tribute to Brittany, and walk back to the pew, sliding in on Rachel's other side. Kurt turns his head to give them a small smile, to let them know they were amazing, catching sight of a teary-eyed Puck in the periphery, and then Mike and Artie against the side wall. He's startled by the appearance of so many people he hasn't seen in so many years.

 Brittany is back then, her face smiling, her cat now absent. “Aren't they lovely?” she asks. “Quinn and Mercedes everybody!” She claps, a few people in the church joining in halfheartedly. “Now it's time for a song, I'd say. It seemed only fitting that my song comes from Kurt, since he sounds and looks the most like an angel.” She smiles down at him and Kurt can swear that her eyes are looking directly into his. “An angel to send me off to live with the angels. Pretty great, right? None of you would be so lucky as to have a pretty unicorn angel sing at your funeral. I would also be totally cool with being reincarnated as a cat or a beautiful tree with hanging flowers, if that's the way things go. So, I picked this song myself and I hope everyone likes it. Especially you, Kurt. I love you.” Kurt wipes a hand across his eyes and places it over his heart, looking into the eyes of his friend, this image of her, imperfect in the worst possible way, in that she cannot hear his own words of love and friendship and sorrow and regret.

 He gets up and glides towards the piano. Panic roils in his stomach like a sack of angry snakes, one head occasionally coming loose to bite at him, sharp stings to his heart and throat and eyes. He takes a seat, the scraping of the piano bench across the tile is loud in his ears, making him cringe. He straightens his back and places his fingers on the keys and takes a deep breath. In. Out. And he begins to play, silently praying to Brittany herself that he doesn't mess up. He's so horribly rusty.

_Why are there so many songs about rainbows_

_and what's on the other side?_

_Rainbows are visions, but only illusions,_

_and rainbows have nothing to hide._

_So we've been told and some choose to believe it._

_I know they're wrong, wait and see._

_Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection._  
The lovers, the dreamers and me.  
  
Who said that every wish would be heard and answered  
when wished on the morning star?  
Somebody thought of that and someone believed it.  
Look what it's done so far.  
What's so amazing that keeps us star gazing  
and what do we think we might see?  
Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection.  
The lovers, the dreamers and me.  
  
All of us under its spell. We know that it's probably magic.  
  
Have you been half asleep and have you heard voices?  
I've heard them calling my name.  
Is this the sweet sound that called the young sailors?  
The voice might be one and the same.  
I've heard it too many times to ignore it.  
It's something that I'm supposed to be.  
Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection.  
The lovers, the dreamers and me.

_La da da di da da da, la da da la di da dooo_

 There are tears running over his cheeks when he finishes, the last note of the piano fading away in the silence of the church. The bench is even louder when he rises and tries to step around it. He walks back towards Rachel blindly, but as he steps down the stairs, he hears breathless gasps and sobs and glances over towards the heart rending sound. Santana is alone. The Pierces are all huddled together, the three of them crying silently into one another's arms. Santana has no arms to hold her.

 Kurt starts in her direction without thinking and kneels down in front of her, pulling her against him and off of the pew. She needs her family. He helps her over and slides down next to Rachel and Quinn, Santana almost seated in his lap.

 The rest of the service passes like a blur. He spends much of it murmuring nonsense words into Santana's hair and wiping her face with a hanky. He watches the projection of Brittany's face and feels the way Santana's entire body revolts against her voice, the ghost of her, and he wishes that someone had tried to talk Brittany out of narrating her own funeral.

 After the minister says goodbye to the assembled mourners, the members of New Directions meet him in the back room, as they were instructed. Santana is taken from his arms by Quinn. He knows she means well, wants to give him a break, but he is loath to let her go. She needs him. It's nice to be needed. There is no worse feeling in the world than helplessness.

 “As you know,” the minister is saying, “Brittany chose to be cremated. She left strict instructions that her ashes be separated into these fourteen bags, and the rest placed in an urn for her parents. He motions to the tiny, intricately embroidered drawstring cloth sacks that line the table in front of them. “She wishes for each of you to take a bit of her back with you to where you live and scatter her ashes in a special place that you think she would enjoy, so that a part of her will be with each of you, always. That is her final request.”

 Nearly everyone breaks down at this, trembling hands reach out, arms thrown around shoulders. They have not kept in touch as they should have done, as they had promised. Their sorrow is tinged with guilt and regret. After they are each given one of the lovely bags, there is still one sitting on the table.

 “Why is there one extra?” Finn asks. He has moved up and wound his arm around Kurt's shoulders, one hand squeezing his bicep. His voice is thick with unshed tears.

 “That one...” The minister smiles sadly. “She said Santana would know and it was top secret.”

 Santana pulls herself away from Quinn and wipes angrily at her eyes. “I got this.” She grabs it up and motions for everyone to follow after her. They say their goodbyes to the minister and go with Santana, grouping up again once outside in the soft June sunlight.

 “This one's for the choir room,” Santana explains. “After we go pretend to eat and make nice with Debbie and Bob Pierce, we're gonna break into McKinley,  _Mission Impossible_  style.”

 She looks around, her eyes dry now, but bloodshot and swollen, her nose nearly as red. She's just waiting for someone to speak up, to argue. No one does.

 “That sounds freakin' awesome,” Puck says instead and Santana manages a ghost of a smile.

 “Shit,” she says, glancing around. “My mom took the car.”

 Kurt steps up and lays a hand on her arm. “You are not driving, Miss Lopez,” he says. “Come on. You're coming with me.”

 “Oh, Lady Hummel, how I've missed your high frequency chatter.” He raises an eyebrow and she rolls her eyes, grabbing his arm and leading him away towards his car, Rachel and Quinn trailing behind and the rest of their group heading for their own.

 Kurt catches Blaine watching him and turns away before the flush of his skin can betray him.  _I am not a sixteen year old virgin anymore_  repeats in his head all the way to the Pierces' house. 

 


	3. Three

****

Three

He needs to escape for some air. He's been the recipient of a literal receiving line of admirers telling him how lovely his song had been: teary-eyed relatives and old teachers and even older ladies. The last straw is Coach Sylvester, who still insists on calling him _Porcelain_ and asking him whether he had gone ahead and had the surgery to become a castrato, for how else had his voice still not changed?

Quinn catches him in the kitchen getting a drink of water before he has the chance to get away completely. 

They embrace, Quinn cuddling into his shoulder as she strokes her hands over his back – giving and taking comfort in equal measure. He can see Blaine chatting with Sam and Tina in the hallway from over Quinn's shoulder. He hasn't managed to tear his eyes away before she is releasing him and glancing back. She gives him a knowing look. 

“He's single, you know.” 

“You asked him that? Jesus, Quinn.” 

She arches one eyebrow and steals the bottle of water from his hand, taking a drink. “Well, I didn't just come out and ask it like that. It was a natural topic during our small talk.” 

Kurt steals his water back. “Uh huh.” 

“So...” She elbows him in the side, turning fully to watch Blaine along with him. “Make sure you talk to him too, okay?” 

“Is it really an appropriate time for this discussion?” 

“Maybe not, but you know she would have wanted you to be happy. And you did once very drunkenly tell me that in a world full of fishes, he was your only fish. And that's pretty much a direct quote.” 

“I think the key words there are _very drunkenly_ ,” Kurt says with a roll of his eyes. 

“Yes, which means ridiculously phrased nuggets of absolute truth without your usual liberal coating of bull.”

“Quinn –”

She gives him a stern look, effectively cutting his protest at the quick. “He's your fish, Kurt. It's about time you reeled him in, don't you think?” 

She steals another drink of his water before heading off into the thick of bodies in the living area, stopping to say a quiet hello to the boys and Tina on her way. 

Kurt sighs and wanders out through the french doors off the kitchen and into the back yard. The air is cooling somewhat as evening approaches and it feels nice against his flushed skin. He walks over to the large weeping willow at the edge of the Pierce's property under which Brittany had buried her infamous cat, Lord Tubbington, the summer after she finally got her high school diploma. Kurt bends down and studies the gravestone she had placed there, smiling at the words and etching of the cat that Kurt himself had helped Brittany create. 

Oh, sweet Brittany. It had been years since Kurt had done more than send an e-mail or a Christmas card, but he misses her presence. It was calming, soothing. She was unfailingly honest the way few people are in the world. He stands, wiping off his hands and walks on to lean against the tree, the long limbs reaching down, their blooms brushing against his shoulders and the top of his head. He watches as a black cat chases around a leaf in the neighbour's yard on the other side of the fence.

There is a sound, a throat clearing, and Kurt startles, whipping his head around to look over his shoulder. 

“Sorry,” Blaine says. “I seem to keep missing you all day so I thought I'd...” He shrugs. His smile is self-deprecating and sorely missed and beyond cherished. 

Kurt smiles back and turns to lean against the large trunk of the willow tree. “Hello, Blaine,” he replies, his voice quiet. 

“The song... It was so beautiful, Kurt. Truly. There wasn't a dry eye in the house.” 

“Thank you.” This time it's Kurt's turn to be self-deprecating. “I was nervous about it. It's been a long time since I sang. Or played the piano, come to that...” 

Blaine's brow furrows and he drops his gaze to the grass below, the small cat's tombstone. “How come?” He almost sounds upset. 

“Not a lot of time or reason. Not much random breaking into song at the House of McQueen like I'd envisioned when I was young.” Kurt chuckles a little at his youthful silliness. 

Blaine perks up. “McQueen? Wow. I see you got a wish from that old list of yours.” 

“Yes. It was number three on my bucket list. Better than nothing, I suppose.” 

“You're still young. Lots of time for one and two.” 

Kurt gives a sad laugh and looks away. He knows there is no chance of that happening, not now. No matter his age. “Too late for those, I think,” he says. 

There is a moment of silence, the wind picking up and whipping the branches of the willow, scattering blossoms and leaves on their crisp dark suits. Kurt looks down and brushes off his sleeve, avoiding Blaine's gaze which he can feel nonetheless. His eyes are like searchlights, finding, watching – the heat is too much at such a short distance. 

“God,” Blaine says after a moment. “You haven't aged a day in ten years. How is that possible?” 

Kurt's mouth quirks up at one corner. “I'm secretly a vampire.” 

Blaine lets out a real, honest laugh and Kurt looks up to see him grinning. “Seriously, though... I'm getting all of these lines around my eyes and I have no idea how –”

“Those are the good wrinkles. From smiling. They suit you.”

“Kurt, not the silent w word, geez!” 

Kurt smiles and rolls his eyes. “Fine. _Lines_. Happy? They still suit you, whatever name for them you find acceptable.” 

“Well, thank you. But that still doesn't solve the mystery as to why _you_ haven't got any.”

“I guess I just don't smile enough,” Kurt answers, meaning to be silly. But his smile falters slightly and he has to look away. He doesn't want to give away just how true that statement actually is. 

Blaine is still watching him, his eyes round and amber and lovely. He looks as though he wants to move closer but he hesitates as though afraid Kurt is going to bite. It almost makes Kurt want to laugh, but it's just not that sort of day. As Kurt watches him, he takes a step forward, then sways a bit from side to side before shrugging to himself and letting out a sigh. And then Blaine is there, right next to Kurt against the trunk of the tree. Kurt can feel his body heat seeping through his suit jacket and into the flesh of his arm. 

“So how have you been?” Blaine asks him, his voice low, his eyes still searching. “Before all of this.” He gestures to the house, the corners of his full lips turning down and his eyes clouding over. _This_. A lovely person and friend dying before she even got to be thirty. 

Kurt shrugs. He should just say good or fine, but he'd never been able to lie to Blaine, no matter how much he sometimes wanted to. “Sometimes all right, sometimes not. Same as everyone I suppose.” 

Blaine's brow is creased in a frown again and he's fiddling with his cufflink. It's typical Blaine trying to puzzle something out and it makes Kurt's heart ache. “Don't you like your job?” he asks after half a moment, still seeming a bit confused. 

“Oh, yes. Sure. I mean, it's not how I used to imagine it would be, and it really sucks having someone else's name slapped on all my hard work, but... Yeah. I'm not thirty yet, so it isn't time to be depressed about not having my own label. I've still got sixteen months.” He grins at Blaine, trying to lighten the mood, but Blaine still looks gloomy. 

“And are you not... are you married or kids or anything?” 

Kurt snorts a laugh, images of his last few dates dancing through his head, an actual comedy of errors that should probably depress him more than it does. His half laugh turns into a chuckle and on from there until he is literally clutching his middle. He pats Blaine on the shoulder when he's calmed down. “Thanks for that, Blaine. I really needed to laugh today.” 

“Um... okay.” Blaine looks unsure, his smile fake like in a school photo. Kurt pats him on the shoulder again, realizing how long he's had his hand there and awkwardly sliding it away and straightening up.

Either he has unknowingly inched closer or Blaine has, because their arms are flush from shoulder to wrist, the two of them just resting there against the gigantic tree trunk. Kurt tries to think of a way he can scooch a bit to the left without seeming like he's doing it on purpose. It's not that he doesn't like touching Blaine, because he does. Maybe too much. 

He's saved from any potentially embarrassing faux pas by the arrival of a hurricane in a strappy black dress. She pitches herself, sobbing, into Kurt's arms and he stumbles, glad to have both the tree and Blaine to keep him from falling backwards. 

“Rachel, Rachel, shh. It's okay. Did something happen?” 

“Santana,” she manages to choke out. “I was just talking to Santana. She lost it. God, I could only hold it together for so long. Tina and Mercedes are with her now. I can't – She's... _Kurt_.” 

Kurt rubs a soothing hand over her back. “I know. I know. Maybe this week at Quinn's will help her. We can all be there for her. That's why Brittany wanted us to go up there.” 

“It was Brittany's idea?” Blaine asks. “For us all to have a reunion at Quinn's lake house?” 

“Yeah. She asked Quinn ages ago when she was first diagnosed. Her prognosis was never very good.”

Rachel chokes out another sob and Blaine digs in his pocket, pulling out a perfectly pressed handkerchief and handing it to her. “Always the dapper gentleman,” she says with a watery smile, wiping at her eyes and smearing eye makeup all over the soft blue fabric. 

Kurt can see Quinn peeking at them from the kitchen window and she is there a second later, peeling Rachel out of his arms and giving him a meaningful look to which he responds with a roll of his eyes. “I've got her, Quinn. I've spent the last ten years looking after her; I can manage.” 

“I am well aware of your co-dependency, believe me. I thought the two of you were trying to break yourselves of that finally?” Kurt rolls his eyes again and fixes the crooked strap on Rachel's dress. Quinn raises one perfectly structured eyebrow. “Anyway, you need a breather, Kurt. You've been looking after us all week and you've barely given yourself a moment to mourn. You don't have to keep doing this for us. Take that moment now.” 

“Thank you for your opinion, Dr. Fabray, but please keep your psychoanalyzing for paying patients.” 

“Rachel?” Quinn coaxes. Rachel regards him with big wet eyes and nods once, wiping Blaine's hanky over her nose. She gets up on her tiptoes and kisses Kurt on the cheek before taking Quinn's arm. 

Quinn reaches over and places the cool palm of her hand against Kurt's cheek where he can still feel the stickiness of Rachel's lip gloss. “You're allowed,” she says quietly, then turns and leads Rachel away. 

“So... co-dependency, huh?” Blaine asks as they watch Quinn and Rachel walk back to the house. 

Kurt gives him a wavering smile. “Yes, we're the worst. It drives Quinn crazy. She was the one who convinced us to finally get our own places.”

“You still live together?”

“Mmmhmm. Well, not for much longer. Leases have been signed. There's no turning back now.” Kurt remembers the water he brought out with him and reaches down next to Lord Tubbington's gravestone to grab it. As he takes a long drink, he can feel Blaine's eyes on him, likely judging him for living with his high school best friend until well into adulthood. His hackles rise at this imagined slight. “It's weird, I know. But Rachel's... she's my family.” 

“It's not weird,” Blaine argues. “I'm just surprised. You once told me you'd need my help burying her body within the first month.” 

Kurt smiles sadly at the memory. That's when he'd thought Blaine would soon be joining them. He'd been more worried about her horning in on their alone time than anything else. “Well, living with Rachel Berry is not without its challenges, believe me. But at the end of the day, she's who I've been coming home to for a third of my life. It's going to be very strange for a while.” 

“Yeah,” Blaine says, his voice almost a whisper. He looks away towards the fence where the neighbour's cat is now meowing at their back door. 

The past members of New Directions peter out of the house in groups of two and three while Kurt attempts to carry on a slightly awkward conversation with the suddenly reticent Blaine. The last to join in is Puck, who comes around the side of the Pierces' house with his cell phone to his ear. Kurt can hear him calling someone a princess and has a flashback of being tossed into the McKinley High School dumpster the morning after meatloaf was served in the cafeteria. He still feels nauseous at the long remembered smell. 

“My little girls wanted to say goodnight,” Puck explains and shares a sad sort of smile with Quinn. 

“All right, losers,” Santana says, commanding the attention of the assembled group. She is no longer crying; she is no longer a mess. She lights up a cigar and takes a long drag, letting the plumes of bluish smoke drift slowly from her nostrils. “It's nearly dark, so it's _Mission Impossible_ time. We need to take as few cars as possible and you all need to tell me if you can pick locks of anything else useful, 'cause whoever can is giving me a ride.” 

Tina widens her eyes and she and Kurt share a look before Rachel pipes up. “Um... I can pick locks. I have a lock pick set in my handbag.” When everyone stares at her, their mouths wide open in shock, she sniffs and tilts her head to one side, hands on her hips. Kurt chuckles into his own shoulder, earning a sideways glance from Blaine whose warmth is still seeping into Kurt's very skin. “What?” Rachel continues. “I bought it as a joke for Kurt because he kept forgetting his keys. And then it ended up coming in quite handy.” She taps her foot impatiently when everyone continues to remain silent. “Not for anything illegal,” she adds. 

Santana takes pity on her and throws an arm around her shoulders. “You're with me, Tiny Town.” 

“Well, I came with Kurt, so...”

Kurt stands away from the tree, both saddened and relieved by the loss of Blaine's arm against him. He mentally shakes his head. _A touch of the shoulders is as sexy as it gets_ , he thinks sarcastically and saunters over to Rachel and Santana, taking the keys of his father's SUV out of the pocket of his suit. 

“You too, Blainers,” Santana says. “You're little and easy to hoist up on things. You're riding the Kurt Hummel Express. It'll bring back lots of fond memories.” 

Kurt flushes and refuses to glance behind him to see Blaine's reaction, stepping forward towards a smug looking Quinn. She is most definitely watching for Blaine's reaction and Kurt has the sudden urge to murder her in a morbid, drawn out Edgar Allen Poe-esque fashion. He grabs her arm, pretending to ignore the smirk on her face, and starts off towards the truck. He can hear Sugar Motta offering to drive as well as Sam and Finn. 

Rachel is showing Santana her breaking and entering implements while Kurt opens the doors and motions everyone inside. Santana hops into the passenger seat without comments or any objections from the others. When Kurt checks his blind spots, glancing in the side and rear view mirrors, he sees nothing but Blaine staring back at him from the centre of the back seat. 

“Britts _said_ she wanted a party,” Santana mumbles quietly as Kurt puts the truck in reverse and begins backing up out of his parking spot. He gets in line behind Finn's Volkswagen Jetta and Sugar's shiny opalescent monstrosity, Artie looking out, frightened, from the passenger seat. 

_Well, this is certainly going to be a wild party_ , Kurt thinks. He only hopes it doesn't turn out to be the sort of party where parents have to be called to bail them out of jail the next morning. 

They park a good distance from the school and all on different streets as not to attract attention. Finn calls Kurt with the idea as he makes his way there, fiddling with the radio dials and trying to avoid the eyes of all three of the people in his back seat. 

They congregate at the back doors where Puck informs them there are no security cameras and lots of shadowy corners. They're louder than they should be, the weight of the day has lifted and the spirit and camaraderie takes over. Sam laughs with Mike while Tina rushes up to Rachel with a grin and a bear hug. Sugar has taken a seat in Artie's lap and he wheels her back and forth as she giggles, throwing her head back so that her long hair reaches down the back of his chair. Finn and Puck stand close together, talking in hushed but excited tones, Finn throwing an arm around Puck's shoulders and nodding enthusiastically. Kurt stands back and watches them, his friends, and silently thanks Brittany for what she has done. He hasn't even seen these people since Mike's wedding nearly four years before, and there had been several of them missing. One in particular, who is standing near enough that Kurt can smell his cologne. 

“Are we seriously going to break into the school?” Blaine asks him quietly, wearing the same fond look on his face as Kurt is certain is decorating his own. 

“That's what she wanted,” Kurt replies. “So yes. Yes we are.” 

He grins at Blaine and boldly takes his elbow. “Come watch Rachel work her felony magic,” he says, and Blaine laughs and follows after him. 

The locks of the high school are frighteningly easy to pick. Rachel hardly even struggles, getting the instruments in the proper places in moments and popping the lock, the door banging, echoing loudly all around as the assembled group cringes in unison. Puck tries the door and they wait with bated breath. When no alarm sounds, they begin to creep inside in single file, tittering under their breaths. Kurt's heart is pounding but he is grinning along with the others, Blaine's hand flat against his back, staying close, staying connected. Kurt wonders if Blaine can feel the flutter of his heart. 

The security lights guide them down the maze of corridors, and though Kurt is sure that even after all of this time he could still find his way through this building with both eyes closed, he is glad for them. The lights give the quest its proper mood: low and shadowy and sullen. 

But even with the mood lighting and the reality of the situation and the possibility of their imminent arrests, everyone is in high spirits. Kurt muses that Brittany would be proud of them. They have put aside each of their own personal sadnesses to love and enjoy the company of their friends. 

The mood shifts when they finally make their way to the choir room and someone flips the switch, illuminating the risers, the chairs, the piano, the message boards. Kurt notices the yellowed and dog-eared poster declaring it to be a LGBT safe room that Mr. Schuester had placed there during his senior year. And then, of course, there is the trophy. They make their way over to it as a group, as if pulled by some invisible string. There are still smiles, but they are bittersweet now, not just with the loss of one of their own, but the loss of their childhoods. 

Without a word, Rachel moves forward and begins to pick the lock on the trophy case. 

“Are we stealing our trophy?” Sugar asks. No one answers her. 

When the lock clicks, Rachel slides it off and opens the glass, looking wordlessly to Santana, who nods in understanding. She pulls the small bag of ashes out of her pocket and approaches the trophy case. She is no longer the confident woman of half an hour before. 

“This is your first place,” she says in a whisper. “A place where you were happy.” She gets up on her tiptoes and drops the bag into the cup of the trophy, running her fingers down the shining surface. 

Everyone stands there in silence, the buzz of the overhead fluorescent lights the only sound in the room. Kurt clutches his chest, woozy all of a sudden and irrationally worried about leaving her there with no explanation. What if someone dusting the trophy one day finds her and throws her away like garbage? He swallows the lump in his throat, blinks back his threatening tears. No, no, no. He can't do this now. There is Rachel and Quinn and Tina is trembling and... God, _Santana_. He feels strong arms slip around his body just as the first wave of tears leaves his eyes and slides traitorously down his cheeks. Blaine pulls him against his chest as he sniffles and finally lets himself break down, similar fates befalling his oldest friends all around them.


	4. Four

**Four**

 

When Rachel finally slides into the rental car, nearly two hours later than they had planned on leaving, she looks sombre. Hiram and Leroy wave from the front lawn and Kurt stays quiet, changing the playlist to his more melancholy showtunes to fit the mood. 

“I called Quinn to let her know we were running late,” Kurt tells her after they've listened in silence to _Memory_ and _Come To Me_. 

Rachel nods her head but doesn't speak again for three more songs. 

“I won,” she says, still staring out the passenger side window. “The Tony last night. I won.” 

“Oh my God, Rachel! I forgot all about that! Oh, sweetie, I'm so proud of you! Congratulations. You'll be there for the next one,” he adds when he sees the tears in her eyes. 

She shrugs her shoulders. “I don't care about that, not really. I'm just... This trip and all of our old friends and Santana... and Brittany – it puts things in such horrible perspective, doesn't it?”

It's Kurt's turn to shrug. He grips the steering wheel more tightly. He knows exactly what she means. And he's worried about this week, this time with all of his old friends and how difficult it's going to be to return to his life afterwards and probably not see them again for years once more. 

“What are we doing, Kurt? We live and breathe our jobs; we don't allow ourselves to connect to people on a personal level. What will we have left when I can't get any more roles and you're no longer a coveted designer? What do we have then? Only each other. Co-dependency just like Quinn said.”

Kurt rolls his eyes and grinds his teeth together. It's not that she's wrong, but he doesn't want to deal with this right now. He has enough on his plate with all of his confusing feelings and sorrow over Brittany and well, he doesn't want to admit it, but seeing Blaine again. “And what do you suggest we do about it?” He feels a slight level of guilt at being so snappish. 

“Well, I... I think we should, um... we should have a baby.” 

There is a long moment of silence. “What?” Kurt asks, his voice loud in the confines of the car. “Together?”

“Yes, of course. We work well together. We could easily raise a child. Sure our family would be a little... unusual, but that's okay.” 

Kurt just stares at her incredulously for half a second before turning back to glare out through the windshield. Is she insane? 

“God, Kurt, it's not like I'm suggesting that we have sex or anything... You can just put it a container and I'll –”

“Rachel, I am not turkey bastering my semen into your body! End of discussion!”

“Why? Don't you want kids? You used to want kids. We made plans and they didn't work out so we need new ones!”

The truth is that Kurt hasn't wanted kids since he and Blaine broke up when he was eighteen. Kids were a part of _those_ plans. The path of his life has twisted and turned and ventured far away from the one he had been on back then. The things he wants are different. The things he can have are different. 

“No, Rachel. I'm not having a kid with you. It's not even up for consideration. Please stop.”

“Why not? What's wrong with me? You're my best friend and we both have stellar genes. We're both stable, mentally and financially. I don't see the problem here!” She is angry now, but mostly hurt, gesticulating wildly, her face red. 

“The problem is that I'm not in love with you! And I'm not –” Kurt softens his voice, bringing the volume down and taking a deep breath. “I don't want to have a baby unless it's with someone I'm in love with. I love you, Rachel, but it's not enough. Not for me. I'm sorry.” 

They don't speak much the rest of the drive to Quinn's lake house. Kurt ignores Rachel's sniffles and tries not to think about the past. He tries not to think about Blaine. 

The first person he sees after he pulls into the driveway is the person he's been attempting to block from his mind. He looks like he's been waiting. Scratch that – he looks like he's trying to look as though he _hasn't_ been waiting, when in fact he _has_. Kurt smiles a little. Blaine never was very subtle.

He comes down from the wraparound verandah with a hand in his pocket and a smile on his face just as Rachel unbuckles her seat belt with more force than strictly necessary and pitches herself from the car. As she storms past, Blaine gives her a little wave and then turns to Kurt and makes a face. 

Kurt shuts his own door and rolls his eyes. “Thanks for helping with the luggage!” he yells after her. 

Blaine follows him around to the trunk of the rental. “Long drive?” he asks. 

“Ugh,” Kurt says by way of answer and pushes open the trunk. “Rachel had a bit of a breakdown. I had to fend her off as she tried to convince me to impregnate her.” Kurt rolls his eyes to himself. He's still shocked that she even suggested it, let alone got upset with him when he refused. He pulls her suitcase out of the trunk more roughly than he should and drops it on the ground. 

Blaine reaches down and sets it back upright on Quinn's dusty driveway. “So... um, are you?”

Kurt pulls his own suitcase up by its handle and hefts it out of the trunk. “What?” When he turns around Blaine is making a rounded motion over his stomach area. Kurt screws up his face in a horrified expression. “Jesus. _No!_ ” 

Blaine gives him a crooked smile and Kurt shakes his head and tries to look stern before fishing his satchel and laptop out of the trunk and slinging it across his body. 

“You guys would make pretty damn adorable babies.” Blaine looks like he's trying to hold in a laugh at Kurt's glare. 

“We would make high pitched, obnoxious, self centred, evil little brats,” he informs Blaine and slams the trunk. 

Blaine laughs, shaking his head. “But, seriously though... is she okay? She seemed a little...” 

Kurt heaves a sigh and looks up at the house. “Yeah. She's just... She won a Tony last night –”

“ _Wow._ ”

“Yeah. And, well, she always said after she won her first Tony, she would have her first baby. And she's single, so... She's always dealt badly with things not going according to her life plan.” 

“I think we all have trouble with that,” Blaine says. Kurt glances at him out of the corner of his eye; he's wearing a bittersweet sort of smile. 

“Rachel is worse than most. Her life plan is pink and sparkly and tacked up on the inside of her closet.”

Blaine turns to look at him and laughs. 

“Not even kidding, Blaine. I think she made it when she was thirteen. She puts little stars beside things when she accomplishes them. It's more than a little frightening.” 

Blaine laughs again and gives him a fond smile that makes Kurt's stomach flutter like it's full of pop rocks. “You ready to go inside?” he asks. 

Kurt turns away and looks back up at Quinn's lake house. He's been coming here for a weekend here, a vacation there, ever since she inherited it from her grandmother five years before. It's calming and familiar, as should be the people inside. But he still worries. He hates getting attached only to have the things he loves ripped out from under him just as he's begun to need them. He's been good at keeping people at arm's length since high school. And he had been before then too – before _these_ people. They burrowed and forced their way into his life and his heart and changed him irrevocably. He's not sure he's ready for that again. 

“I need a cigarette,” he breathes out. 

“You smoke?” Kurt startles a little. He'd almost forgotten Blaine was there next to him. 

“No. I mean... I did once for about a week. My first fashion week to be exact. But then I kept imagining all the ways Dad would kill me if he found out and I stopped before it could become a crutch. It's hard sometimes, though. A lot of people in the fashion industry smoke. Something to do instead of eating,” he adds on, trying to lighten the mood after he realizes how much he's been babbling. He just doesn't want to be judged, least of all by Blaine. 

“But you love eating.”

Kurt grins. “That I do. And speaking of food – do I smell barbeque? Because I am starving. All I had to eat during the drive was half of a tofurkey sandwich and a pint of Rachel's hysterical tears.”

“You're terrible,” Blaine says with a little giggle.

“She nearly made me run off the road! I thought she wanted to have sex with me, Blaine. It was gross and traumatizing, and now I have to share a bedroom with her. Don't judge me for tempering my anxiety with a little harmless mockery!” 

Kurt grabs Blaine by the sleeve of his shirt and drags him, laughing, into the house. 

 

Blaine helps him take the luggage up to his usual room where Rachel is staying with him in order to give _her_ usual room to Tina and Mercedes. Kurt knows that Quinn had planned on Santana staying with her in the master bedroom, but he wonders how she's managed to squeeze everyone else in. There are many bedrooms in the house, but even still, it's a lot of people. 

As he sees when he ventures out into the back yard with Blaine. He ignores the way Rachel is muttering to Quinn over in the far corner near the hammock, obviously recounting their disastrous conversation in the car. Quinn keeps shaking her head and trying to calm Rachel down. Finn gives him a big grin and a wave from the lawn chairs where he sits chatting with Mike and Artie. Puck and Tina are manning the barbeque, flipping burgers and steaks and laughingly having a sword fight with their tongs. Sam is telling some sort of fish tale to Sugar, complete with wild gesticulations as she keeps giggling and sipping a very colourful concoction through a twirly straw. Santana sits over near the tree line with Mercedes, chatting quietly and constructing a daisy chain. These people. Kurt loves each and every one of them. They're missing Joe and Rory and Unique and the few who joined after Kurt graduated, but they've sent messages and flowers and love in their absence. And it was this group who Brittany requested be here at Quinn's. They are the little messed up family whom she loved. 

Blaine places a hand on Kurt's back, warm and comforting. He must see how Kurt is hesitating. Kurt wonders what he thinks are his reasons. Mercedes comes over with bear hugs, Santana trailing behind with her ring of daisies. 

“You're lookin' skinny, Kurt! Let's get a burger into you!” Mercedes says with a wink and kisses him on the cheek. 

Santana side-eyes Mercedes and comes up and threads her arm through Kurt's and places the daisy chain on his head like a crown. “There you go. Pretty as a princess,” she says. Her smile doesn't carry its usual evil but Kurt rolls his eyes at her anyway, playing along. 

He and Blaine walk over to the barbeque to get something to eat at Mercedes' insistence, each taken by the arm and guided in that direction. Puck greets him with hard slap on the back and half 'bro hug' and gets them each a burger while Tina grabs Kurt and jumps up, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

“You're here!” she yells. “I was starting to get worried that you got lost!” 

“No, no, just running behind. I like to be fashionably late and all that.” 

Blaine holds out the plate with his burger on it and a bit of tossed salad, dressing on the side. Kurt takes the plate without comment and Blaine smiles at him and reaches up to adjust his crown of daisies. “You're a little crooked to be fashionable,” he jokes, setting it right and making a ta-da gesture with his hands. 

"Thank you. How could I ever live with myself if my crown of flowers wasn't nestled properly in my hair?”

“How indeed.” Blaine grins at him, and he looks down at his plate of food and tries to ignore the pop rocks going off in his stomach again. He lifts up the top of the burger bun to find his burger already dressed with everything he likes. “Oh, sorry. I should have asked if you still like it with all of that...” Blaine looks embarrassed, his cheeks taking on a bit of a flush that is a pretty rare occurrence. Or at least it was ten years ago. 

“No, it's perfect. Thanks.” 

“I'm just going to get one, too,” he says, avoiding Kurt eyes and turning towards the barbeque. 

“Okay,” Kurt says weakly. He wanders over to take the empty seat next to Finn, noticing how Blaine's eyes search him out as soon as he turns away from the barbeque. He feels guilty for leaving but he hates awkwardness. He avoids it as much as he possibly can and he didn't want to presume that he _should_ wait to eat with Blaine. He's trying to decide whether or not to call him over when he loses his chance – Rachel has finished berating him behind his back to Quinn and has snatched Blaine up, leading him over to sit with her on the back steps. 

Kurt stares down at his plate of food. It's exactly the way he takes it, right down the raspberry vinaigrette on the side. Blaine still knows these things. He still remembers. Kurt picks at his food and allows himself to be pulled into the conversation with Finn and Artie, happy for the distraction. 

He slips away to his room after finishing up to change into something that isn't wrinkled from driving all afternoon. Rachel comes to find him after a few minutes; he can feel her presence lurking in the doorway and tells her to come on in a shut the door. 

“I just wanted to apologize,” she says in a quiet voice. “It was wrong of me to assume that you would just go along with my idea, and even more so for me to be angry with you for saying no. I'm sorry. I'd bake you cookies if we were at home.” 

Kurt sighs and pulls a shirt out of his suitcase. “I'm not mad at you, Rachel. I understand how you're feeling. It's okay.” 

“I don't think you do... But that is okay,” she backtracks when Kurt turns around and gives her a look. “It's just... I see what's happening, and I'm...”

“Nothing is happening, Rachel. I have no idea what you're talking about.”

She nods at him and doesn't elaborate. “I feel so alone.” 

Kurt drops his clothes on the bed and turns to give Rachel a hug. “You are not alone. You've got me and Quinn. The three musketeers the same as we've been ever since Quinn moved to New York. You're not alone, Rachel.” 

They stand in the middle of the room locked in an embrace for several moments before Rachel goes up on her tiptoes to press a dry kiss to his cheek before excusing herself. “Come on out and play with us,” she sing-songs as she goes, closing the door behind her. 

When he finally follows Rachel back outside, he finds that the alcohol has come out. Finn had been sipping on a bottle of beer while chatting, but Kurt hadn't really noticed anyone else besides Sugar partaking, not until Santana pulled out several bottles of wine and some tequila. And then someone got the blender and ice and limes and... Before Kurt knows it he is three sheets to the wind, sucking some unknown number of margarita through one of Sugar's twisty straws and reclining on the grass with Rachel and Quinn, their heads close together in a circle and their bodies stretched out like starfish. It is dark and he can hear the others laughing in the distance and mulling about on the back porch. 

“You should have seen his face!” Rachel and Quinn fall into a fit of giggles, having a great time mocking Kurt for his reaction to Rachel's wanting to make a baby with him. Now that Rachel has had most of a bottle of wine and a couple of margaritas, she can find humour in the situation. “He totally thought I was asking him for sex!”

“And weren't you secretly? I wouldn't mind a crack at him. He's got a huge –”

“Quinn Fabray!” Kurt chastises, cutting her off before she can traumatize him for life. “You're supposed to be the good one!”

“Oh come on, Kurt. We all know it's true,” Quinn says. Kurt can feel Rachel's soft hair brush against the side of his face as she nods her agreement. “We should totally have a threesome.” 

Quinn and Rachel break into a fresh wave of laughter, rolling over to Kurt's side, and then partially on top of his body as he struggles under their tickling hands. 

“Get off me, you hussies!” Kurt wiggles out from under them and sits up, but not before a wet smacking kiss is placed on the side of his face. He wipes away the saliva and lip gloss and rubs his soiled hand in the grass. Quinn and Rachel continue to cackle and roll around next to him. “Go over to the bushes and have your threesome if you want, but leave me out of it!” 

“But there are only two of us,” Rachel argues. 

“Your combined insanity can be your third.” 

Quinn snorts indelicately and Rachel purses her lips and peers up at him. “Come on, Kurt. It's been aaaages since you had sex with anybody. And I live with you, so I should know.” 

“Well, not that it's any of your damn business, but I don't like meaningless sex. Even if the person... people... are someone I care about. It's just so... meaningless.”

“You don't say?” Quinn smirks from where she's laid out flat on her back. 

“Shut up,” Kurt tells her. 

“Well it seemed like a good idea to me,” Rachel says. 

“That's because you're drunk.” 

“So are you.”

“Touché.” Kurt looks at the plastic margarita glass that's he's still clutching in his hand, even though it mostly spilled when he was attacked by the girls. He tips it and lets the remainder of the syrupy concoction drip onto the lawn and sets the empty cup upright next to Rachel. He uses his hands to lift himself up and to his feet, where he sways slightly before steadying himself and turning towards the lake. At least he's pretty sure that's where the lake is. 

He bends over to fix his pants and straighten his shirt and runs a hand through his hair. He feels strange and dishevelled and knows that it doesn't matter, as everyone else is in the same boat and likely wouldn't care even if they weren't. But it matters for some reason. He can't remember what that reason is, but it must be important. 

“Where are you going?” Rachel asks, squinting up at him as though he is bright, as though he is pointing a light directly at her eyes. He's not quite sure what it is she's going for exactly with that face. 

“Skinny dipping,” he lies. Quinn cackles and rolls half on her side. 

“You are not going skinny dipping,” Rachel argues. 

“At least not without us,” Quinn adds and waggles her eyebrows suggestively. 

Kurt huffs, pretending to be angry. “No way. You've already spent a worrisome amount of time thinking about my dick as it is,” he says. 

Rachel lets out a squawk of a laugh and Quinn giggles into her sleeve. Kurt takes a step away from the pair of them only to be tackled about the legs by Rachel. He's not expecting it and falls forward onto his face with a loud thump and an _oof_. Rachel throws herself across his legs and makes a triumphant noise. 

“Maybe you'd let us come along if we bring _Blaine_ ,” Quinn says in a knowing voice. That's why. That's why Kurt cares how put together he looks. He remembers at the same time as he realizes how ridiculous that is. He lets out a groan and a scoff both at once and the combination sounds a bit like a wounded animal or a bird mating call. In his drunkenness he contemplates how apt that comparison is while Rachel _ooohs_ from her place across the backs of his legs. Kurt grumbles at them, the words lost in the grass where his face is currently pressed. 

“What was that?” Quinn asks. She sounds smug again and he wants to smack her. She's already gone on for twenty minutes all about how worried Blaine had been when Kurt was late and how he kept asking her if she was sure he was coming. Kurt thinks he probably asked her in passing and she's making a big deal out of nothing. Though that is much more Rachel's style than Quinn's. But he's admitting nothing. 

“Shut up,” he says. He sighs internally afterwards. Those two words say it all, really. 

“That's what I thought,” Quinn says. Kurt contemplates hitting a girl. 

“You can't go swimming, Kurt,” Rachel says, her loud voice piercing and obnoxious. She seems to have missed the entire conversation he's just had with Quinn, despite her _oohhs_ and _aahhs_. “You might drown and I love you too much.” 

“Okay, fine,” Kurt says. “Let's just go to bed then. I drank too much.” 

“Woot! Threesome!” Rachel crows. 

Kurt crawls out from underneath her and gets shakily to his feet. “No! If either of you touches me below the belt, I'm dousing you in fire retardant chemicals!” 

“That stuff's fire retardant?” Rachel asks, a naughty grin on her face, looking up at him from where she now lies on her back. “Who knew?”

“Rachel Berry!” Kurt winces at the pitch and volume of his voice. He sees heads turn in their direction from where a group is playing poker on the back porch. 

One of their number leaves the group and wanders over, a grin on her face. “What kind of shenanigans are going on over here? It sounds like a cat's being murdered.” 

“Nah, that's just Kurt,” Rachel says happily and flops over onto her front. 

Kurt scowls at her. She sounds like a dying cat just as much as he does. “Mercedes! Save me! They're molesting me!” 

“And who's to say I won't join in, Kurt?” 

“You are engaged to be married, Miss Jones! That's it, I'm outta here!” 

Mercedes joins Rachel and Quinn in their cackles as Kurt turns away and flounces towards the lake. 

“No swimming!” Rachel hollers. 

Kurt turns abruptly and shouts back, “I'm not swimming!”

“Shake your booty a little more,” one of them yells. Kurt isn't sure which one it is. He turns and begins walking backwards, waving a finger at them. 

“That's okay. We appreciate the view from the front just as much,” Quinn says. 

“Perverts!” Kurt scolds them loudly. He hears the three of them and several more people cackle as he makes his way down towards the water. 

He stops to stare at the stars, resting against the trunk of a leafy tree. Its roots stick out of the earth, winding patterns that he tells himself to be careful of so he doesn't trip in his inebriated state. The stars are bright and numerous and so lovely. One of the main downfalls of living in New York is never seeing the stars. He's gone to the planetarium plenty of times and he loves it, but it's not the same. It doesn't bring back memories of his mom and hot chocolate and fluffy blankets wound around him as tight and as warm as her arms. It doesn't remind him of love and happiness and potential the way the stars always did when he was young. He remembers going out to the country with Blaine one night before they were a couple – best friends – and the awkward tension between them that he tried to push aside then, because both he and Blaine had convinced themselves that he wasn't interested in Kurt that way. Even when Blaine had cuddled up next to him for warmth and his eyes were shining brighter than the full moon, Kurt never let himself believe it was for any particular reason. 

He's pulled from his reminiscing by Finn. He stumbles out of the trees, tugging up his zipper one handed, a bottle of beer clutched in his other hand. Kurt starts to greet him, make a joke about peeing in the bushes and being careful of poison ivy, when he catches the look on his stepbrother's face. “What the hell was that?” Finn asks, gesticulating back towards the house with his beer bottle. Some liquid sloshes out of the mouth of the bottle and splashes onto his bare wrist. Kurt just stares dumbly, tempted to glance behind himself to see if there is someone else standing there who Finn is actually talking to. Finn bugs out his eyes as if to say, _hello_ , but Kurt just shakes his head. “You were all over them!” he accuses. 

“Um... what?” 

“Rach and Quinn. The only two girls I have ever loved and you're just rubbing it in my face!”

Kurt rolls his eyes and Finn looks all the angrier. “I think you're forgetting Sarah and Joanne and Holly. Anyway, they're my best friends, Finn. And, God, it was high school. Get over it.” 

Finn huffs out a sarcastic sort of laugh and takes a long pull from his beer, then tosses the empty bottle into the trees. “You're one to talk,” he says. “I've seen you looking at him. All your crappy, failed relationships – you're still looking at _him_. So don't 'it was high school' me.” 

Kurt is tempted to tell Finn that it wasn't the same, but he doesn't really think that will help his case at the moment. It certainly won't calm Finn down any. “You're drunk, Finn –”

“Whatever, man. Whatever.” He stomps away towards the lake and Kurt suddenly understands Rachel's vague panic when he had jokingly claimed that he was going swimming. 

“Please stay away from the water, Finn.” He gets no response. “Finn!”

“Well, that sobered me up quickly,” he mutters to himself. He continues down to the dock, hoping to find his brother and if he can't talk some sense into him, he can at least keep an eye on him. Instead he finds Santana sitting on the aged wood all by herself, her legs bent and arms wrapped around her knees. 

“What the hell was that?” she asks as he approaches, her voice flat. 

“Nothing. He's just drunk. He didn't mean it.” 

“Guess you haven't stopped.”

“Stopped what?” 

“Making excuses for people who act like giant raging assholes. Especially that asshole in particular.” 

Kurt sighs and takes a seat next to her on the dock. He slides off his shoes and socks and dips his feet in the motionless water. It's still sun-warmed from the unseasonal heat of the day. “He's not an asshole.” 

“Uh huh.” She follows his lead and lets her feet dangle into the lake. “He just accused you of trying to steal his _ladies._ Has he even met you? Or himself? Neither one of you has got ladies.”

“What are you talking about? I've got me a whole harem of ladies,” Kurt says and elbows her playfully in the side. His joke works and she laughs a little. 

“Hags maybe.”

“A hag harem,” Kurt says with a giggle. “Hummel's Hag Harem.” Okay, so maybe he is still drunk. He looks over at Santana. Her tentative smile has dropped and she looks melancholy again, staring out at the water but seeing nothing. He reaches over and wraps his arms around her small frame. “Come here, you.”

“What are you doing?” she asks, voice wry. 

“Cuddling you.” 

“Well, stop it.” There is no force behind her command. Kurt wonders how many people have bothered to hug her today, with all of their reuniting and eating and drinking and telling old stories. 

“Nope.” 

She sighs loudly, pretending to be put upon, but snuggles more deeply into the circle of his arms. “Fine.” 

They're quiet for a long time, the two of them staring now, at the reflection of the small fingernail sliver of the moon on the water and the lights from the houses on the other side of the lake. They let their feet dip in and out of the water, the faint sloshing loud next to the far off chirping of crickets and the distant sounds of their friends laughing and talking by the house. 

“When was the last time you were happy?” Santana asks, her voice so quiet that he has to strain to hear her. “Not just, oh this is nice, but blissfully, all-encompassingly happy?”

“I don't know,” Kurt says. His voice comes out just as quiet, just as hesitant as Santana's. 

“I saw her one day – she was sitting... just sitting in the living room, in the window seat. There was a wash of sunshine all over her and she glowed and they said, they said it was in remission, they said...” She takes a deep breath and gathers herself for a moment before continuing. “At that moment, she turned and smiled at me and I felt so much love and peace and I was so _happy_. Happy like I hadn't been in years. Maybe happier than I'd ever been. I thought I was getting another chance... another chance to love her. I thought I was –”

She breaks down again, her tears soaking through Kurt's shirt and dampening his skin. “You did, Santana. You did. You loved her and she loved you. You will always be able to cherish that. You got it back, even if it was only for a short time, it was important.” 

She nods against his chest. “Six months. I had six months and then it was all, you have cancer that is likely incurable, and here I am... One year later and she's just... gone. Not in another state. Not in another city, gone forever. I'll never be able to kiss her or smell her or laugh at her silly jokes. How is that fair?” 

Kurt has no answer for her. He knows how unfair it is. Knows it first hand. He tries to give her all the comfort he can without words as she sniffles and grasps his arm and touches their slippery feet together in the water. 

He holds Santana and thinks about what she asked. Happiness. It's always been such a fleeting thing in his life, true happiness. He sometimes has great things happen at work that he wants to shout from rooftops, but those triumphs pass all too quickly. He knows it's because he has no one to share them with. He's tried with several men over the years, but none of them were the right fit. They were never interested enough, or else they were too interested and scared him away because he just couldn't see the future involving them past the short amount of time he could be bothered putting into the relationship. And they always had flaws that needled at him until he could no longer stand it. He's always gotten more fulfilment from his friends and family than his romantic entanglements. 

But all-encompassing happiness? He thinks and thinks – the first time Anna Wintour complimented one of his designs? No. That was good, but not bliss. He slots through memories in his head, cataloguing them and taking them apart like files. He finally settles on one – his stomach dropping, then swooping as he went down and rushed back up, around and around and around again, laughing. He could hear Rachel screeching below and Finn's deep booming chuckle as he teased her. Next to him Blaine smiled, his eyes twinkling, happy, in love. In love with Kurt. He used to look at him as though he hung the moon. Like he would do anything for him and all he had to do was ask. No one else has ever made Kurt feel so much with a single glance. The Ferris Wheel dropped again, and Blaine clutched Kurt's hand, laughing as Rachel squealed again from the seat below. They had ridden it over and over that day, had kissed at the top like the cheesiest of clichés. Blaine had fed him sticky pink cotton candy and they had licked it off of each others' fingers, trying and failing to be seductive and ending up falling all over each other laughing. Then bumper cars, beating Rachel and Finn soundly as they drove around in circles, unable to get in synch while Kurt and Blaine smashed into their car over and over from all sides. Kurt and Blaine had no trouble getting in synch. They were always in synch. Until they weren't. 

The smile falls from Kurt's face and he hugs Santana tighter, suddenly needing her closeness just as much as she needs his. 


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own the song lyrics located herein. Or Glee, come to that.

****

Five

He wakes up with a hangover. The sun is blaring in through the open curtains and he tries to roll over and hide his eyes away, but Rachel is there next to him, spread out across the bed, the blankets wrapped around and around her body like she's a mummy. Kurt is curled up on a tiny wedge of mattress with a fraction of a pillow and still wearing his undershirt and boxers from the night before. He makes a whimpering sound and tries to push Rachel off his pillow. She doesn't even budge, just opens her mouth and utters some sort of curse in an alien language. Her breath smells like putrid rotting garbage on a hot summer's day and Kurt finds his own mouth tastes like something similar. He smacks his lips together and cringes. His skin feels disgusting and his stomach is churning and his head is pounding and he really needs to pee.

He doesn't even attempt to be quiet when he gets up from the bed. Rachel deserves to be awoken in the most noisy and painful way possible – bed hogging, blanket thieving hussy. Kurt shoots her sleeping form a glare from over his shoulder as he stumbles around the room, trying to find something to wear. 

The shower is mercifully unoccupied. He's pretty sure he would have just barged in and co-showered with whatever unlucky person had been using it had it not been, so he supposes it's lucky for them. Once he's clean and his mouth fresh and minty, he feels marginally more like a human being and walks slowly down the stairs to the kitchen. He passes Tina on the sofa. She looks even worse than he feels; she grunts a good morning and goes back to clutching her stomach and picking at her dry toast and glass of water. 

Kurt decides that toast is a good idea and pops two slices of bread into the toaster. His luck doesn't stay with him however, because there isn't any coffee in the pot. It's still warm, so some enterprising soul had made a pot, but the bastards drank it all afterwards and didn't save any for him. He groans and knocks his head against the counter, letting it rest there for a moment against the cool granite. It feels soothing, along with the light wind fluttering the curtains above him and brushing across the back of his neck. He breathes a small sigh before picking himself up and starting a new pot of coffee. 

Voices drift in through the open window. He recognizes Puck's laugh and another quieter one – Blaine. Kurt starts and hits his leg into the handle of the cutlery drawer, biting his lip to keep from cursing out loud. 

“That one's my oldest,” Puck is saying. “Her name's Sabrina. She's a badass just like her daddy. And this one's my baby – Ester. She just turned two. Knows how to get anything, I swear. She's got everybody wrapped around her cute little finger.” Kurt smiles to himself as Blaine compliments Puck on his beautiful daughters. Puck is so proud of them. It warms Kurt's heart. 

“It must be great, getting to stay home with them,” Blaine says. “To never miss a thing.” 

“Yeah,” Puck agrees. “Nothing better. My pool business is doing great, so I have people to do everything for me. And my wife, Shelly, she's a hell of a lot more business savvy than I'll ever be. We've got four stores now thanks to her. And pool installations in California? Never not gonna be a happenin' business.” 

“That's for sure,” Blaine agrees. 

“You want kids, man?” Puck asks. 

It's quiet for a few seconds before Blaine answers. “Yeah, I'd love to be a dad. It's one of my greatest wishes.”

“That on the horizon for you any time soon?”

“Nah. Unfortunately not in the cards.” Blaine sounds sad. Kurt feels the smile slip from his face as he grabs his quickly cooling toast and tears off a piece to pop into his mouth. 

“So it's a case of just not meeting the right guy?” Puck asks in a knowing voice. 

“More like a case of not being able to keep him,” Blaine says, his voice quieter now. “Your kids are gorgeous though, Puck. You should be proud.” 

Kurt's heart hammers in his chest. He can't help but wonder if Blaine is referring to him. But that's ridiculous. It's been years and Blaine has been in any number of serious relationships with men he has loved more than he ever loved Kurt. But he can't help it – he remembers the look Blaine had given him the night before as he helped pour Rachel into bed, and, well, it had been so bright and familiar that he still feels happily warm with it. Despite the way his stomach burns with the fire of a thousand suns – or in this case, a thousand shots of tequila. And then there had been the way Blaine had drunkenly clung to him when they hugged goodnight and his obvious reluctance at leaving to go to his own room. Kurt was pretty sure he'd felt the ghost of Blaine's lips brush against the shell of his ear, but he could be mistaken, because, well, _margaritas_. In conclusion, he kind of really hates Sugar Motta right about now. Her and her demon, thought fuzzying liquor concoctions. 

The coffee done, Kurt pours himself a mug and sips at it, taking a seat on one of the stools around the kitchen island. He wonders where the rest of their ragtag crew is this morning, but figures they are likely still as dead to the world as Rachel is. He's not sure any of them had stayed sober the night before, and they're really getting too old for this shit. 

Kurt slowly eats his toast and drinks his coffee. It coats his stomach, ceasing the churning almost completely. 

Finn is the next to wander down the stairs. He's got one shoe on and has Artie's shirt squeezed over his ample frame. Kurt's sure there is a story behind that and even more sure that he doesn't want to know. 

“Hey man,” Finn mumbles. He goes over and pours himself a cup of coffee before falling onto one of the stools next to Kurt. 

It's silent for a moment. Finn gulps his black coffee, cringing as it goes down. Kurt knows he usually takes it with a ton of milk and sugar, but guesses he's too lazy or in too much pain to go on a search for either. When he's emptied his entire mug and placed it down on the island with a loud clunk, he swivels his body in Kurt's direction. Kurt is tempted to ask him why he hasn't removed the solitary shoe from his foot. He's pretty sure it belongs to Mike. 

“Kurt? I'm really sorry about last night, man,” Finn says. His voice is less scratchy now that he's had something to drink. “I didn't mean any of that crap I said. I was being a dick.” 

“It's all right, Finn. You were drunk. I was drunk. We were all drunk.”

“Doesn't excuse it though, man. I shouldn't have been acting like that, especially not to you. I was just feeling really crappy and you're closest to me, so it was easiest to take it out on you.”

Kurt looks up at Finn's furrowed brow and crazy hair. He seems lost in a way he hasn't for a very long time. “Why were you feeling crappy?” he asks.

“I dunno. Like, everybody was talking all day about their glamourous lives. Riches and fame and mountains and beaches and partners and babies... And I felt like a loser. I still live in Lima and I'm all alone.” 

“I'm all alone, too. So are lots of us. It doesn't make you a loser. And, God, you don't seriously think what you do isn't important, do you? Because your job is one of the most important there is, and who cares whether you're doing it in Lima or New York or London or Timbuktu. Those kids love you, Finn, and you make a difference every day. I'm probably making the world a worse place. Causing eating disorders and alcoholism.” 

Finn shakes his head, regretting it a moment later and laying it down on the countertop with his arms curled up underneath. 

“I'm serious, Finn. If I had to spend even one day in a room full of first graders, I'd likely kill one of them. Or throw myself out the window.” 

Finn chuckles, his head bouncing up and down on his arms. “You're a good brother,” he says. “Sorry if I don't tell you enough. So glad Mom and Burt got hitched and I got you out of it.”

Kurt smiles and pats the back of Finn's unruly head. “I'm glad I got you out of it, too, Finn. Now go shower because you smell like a distillery and it's making me want to yak.” 

“Love you too, man,” Finn grumbles. 

“Uh huh.” Kurt rumples his hair playfully and gets up for another cup of coffee. 

 

It's after two when everyone is finally up and human again. Kurt has been sitting and chatting with Sam and Santana for the last hour, listening as Sam tells them all about his adventures with the kids he and his wife, Keri, foster in Philadelphia where he's been living for the past five years. Santana has been sticking close to Kurt since she emerged from Quinn's room that morning. She's been mostly quiet, like she's trying to figure something out. The most she's said was to complain that she'd had to sleep between Quinn and Sugar, and that Sugar bellows in her sleep, trying to sing showtunes and radio jingles. 

Kurt catches a flash of hideous plaid out of the corner of his eye, but thinks he must have been imagining it and turns his attention back on Sam, who is doing an impression of his own wife while Santana snorts next to Kurt. He feels her knobby elbow catching him just under the ribs and is about to tell her off, but then he looks to the side and... She wasn't laughing at Sam.

Blaine is standing there next to Sugar. And Blaine and Sugar, they're the plaid thing he saw. Baby pink and Kelly green knickerbockers and white polo shirts and the most ridiculous hats that Kurt has ever seen, and that includes Antoine Dion's 2019 Fall Collection. 

“Oh my sweet absent God. What in the fuck are you two wearing?” 

“Aren't we adorbs? I found these cricket uniforms in a closet!” Sugar answers, grinning and bouncing in place as though she hadn't consumed her own weight in tequila twelve hours before. 

“Croquet,” Blaine corrects her. He swings his mallet down from where it was resting over his shoulder and winks at Kurt. “Do you play croquet?” he asks, doing a pretty passable impression of the Queen of Hearts from the Disney version of _Alice in Wonderland_. 

“Um, no. Absolutely not. I won't even go near you wearing those outfits. Just looking at the pair of you is bringing my headache back.”

“Oh, come on,” Blaine says with an exaggerated pout. Kurt tries not to smile. “It's gonna be an Epic Croquet Tournament of Epicness.” 

“Blaine, the year 2010 called and it wants its stupid expression back.”

“Is that so?” Blaine hikes the mesh sack of wooden croquet balls and mallets up over his shoulder, a twinkle in his eye. 

Kurt lets his eyes twinkle back. “Yep.” 

“You playing or not?” 

Kurt rolls his eyes. “Fine. But I'm red.” 

“You're going to be when I'm finished with you.” 

Kurt really doesn't want to think about the less innocent way that can be taken. “Croquet trash talk? Really?” 

Blaine shrugs and grins, straightening his stupid hat. 

“That is the ugliest fucking outfit I have ever seen in my life, and yet Sugar is still somehow right. You are _adorbs_.” 

Blaine flutters his eyelashes. “You're making me blush!” 

And just when Kurt had forgotten all about the others, Puck speaks up from behind Blaine. “If you two are done with the foreplay, can we get on with it? Because the Puckster has got a hankering to kick all your asses.” 

Kurt stands up from his seat with a little help from a smirking Santana. He doesn't look Blaine in the eye when he hands over the red ball. 

“Ha, Blaine has blue balls,” Puck chortles once the rest have been passed out and all that's left in the mesh bag is the blue. 

Kurt rolls his eyes and hopes his cheeks aren't as red as they feel. 

The croquet match isn't anywhere near as epic as promised. Puck and Sugar and Blaine have conned Tina and Finn into playing as well as Kurt, and they seem much more enthusiastic than Kurt feels. His concentration falls farther and farther away the longer it carries on, until he and Blaine spend more time seeing how far out of bounds they can knock each others' croquet balls than playing the actual game. They both end up in a thick copse of evergreen trees, giggling and falling over each other as they take turns trying to block the spots of red and blue from view on the shadowy forest floor. 

“I've got your ball!” Blaine taunts, his foot resting on his blue one and his mallet at the ready. But Kurt is having none of that. He crashes into him sideways, knocking the mallet from his hand and bowling him over, the pair of them falling, laughing, onto an old tree that's been knocked down by weather or simply age. They can still hear the others battling it out on the lawn as they catch their breath, but no one seems to notice or care that they have disappeared from play.

“You pushed me!” Blaine accuses, sitting up and flicking his hat out of his eyes. 

“I tripped,” Kurt says, studying his nails with an innocent expression. “It was one hundred percent accidental.” 

Blaine snorts a laugh and steals Kurt's croquet mallet, tossing it to the side with his own discarded one. Kurt gives him a wide grin. 

“Look at that beautiful smile!” Blaine says, and Kurt feels his face heat up. He's glad for the shade of the trees. “I'll have crow's feet on you in no time.” 

“No way, mister. I will resort to Botox if necessary,” Kurt argues and mock glares. 

Blaine laughs again. “Bad idea. I've seen the results of too much Botox wandering around the streets of L.A.” He pulls a face. “You are far too gorgeous to do that to yourself.” 

Kurt blushes again and looks away, embarrassed yet pleased with the compliment. He has always had such a confusing reaction to praise about his looks. He shifts to the side and picks at some loose bark on the tree. “L.A., huh? How do you like it there?” 

Blaine shrugs. “It's okay. I've never really been totally happy with it, despite the great weather. The record label I produce for has recently signed a bunch of new talent from the east coast, so I've been spending more than half of my time working out of New York this year.”

“Really?” Kurt perks up. “We should grab a coffee some time.” 

“I'd really love that,” Blaine says with a smile. “New York would be even more perfect if I got to spend time with you.” 

Kurt turns away, worried Blaine will pick something up from the softness he feels in his eyes. He says the most perfect things. He's always had that talent when it comes to Kurt, at least at the best of times. Kurt watches Blaine out of the corner of his eye. He's staring straight ahead at the trees, twisting a leaf behind his fingers. He has a slight smile curling up the corners of his lips. Kurt has always loved Blaine's lips – so full and perfectly shaped and pillowy soft. 

When he opens them to speak again, Kurt forces himself to look away. “The only thing I would really miss about L.A. is spending as much time with Cooper as I get to now. It's been nice.”

Kurt smiles. Cooper Anderson was quite the character. “You can certainly never see too much of Cooper.” 

“I've lived with Cooper,” Blaine says. “And believe me, you can _definitely_ see too much of Cooper.”

Blaine shudders next to him and Kurt laughs. He doesn't bother to argue. 

“Well, I suppose,” Blaine says after a moment of silence. He leans over to gather up the two croquet mallets from the ground near Kurt's feet. 

“You've got tree all over that nauseating snub at all things fashionable and decent that's sitting on your head,” Kurt says. 

Blaine comes up with their mallets in his hand and a wide grin stretching out his mouth. “Oh dear, can't have that!” 

Kurt shakes his head and begins picking the needles off one by one. When he looks down, brushing his hand across the soft surface of the hideous plaid monstrosity, Blaine is much closer than he realized. His eyes are round and soft and his lips slightly parted. Kurt has the sudden urge to run his hand down the side of Blaine's face, to feel the pull of the slight stubble that is forming on his cheeks and jaw, and keep going, dragging his thumb across the tender plumpness of Blaine's bottom lip. 

He can hear a slight hitch of breath and thinks for a second that it's his, but it's not. It's Blaine. He's looking from Kurt's eyes to his lips, unsure, testing, checking to see if Kurt is going to pull back or say no or get up and run from the trees. 

He doesn't. He just sits there, his own eyes watching as Blaine's continue to flit back and forth between his eyes and his mouth. He thinks he's beginning to lean forward, only infinitesimally at first, and then a loud noise startles them both and Blaine jumps backwards. 

It's Puck. He's whooping and hollering from somewhere behind them, crowing about winning and _in your face, Hudson, you suck_! 

“Guess the game is over,” Kurt says. 

“Yeah.” Blaine's voice is weak and he's looking down at his feet, kicking at an acorn with a scowl on his face. As annoyed as Kurt is at Puck, he has to hide a smile. 

 

They have a bonfire after a late dinner. Tina and Rachel have a little too much fun getting it started with an excess of lighter fluid and small wooden boards built up in a pyramid within the confines of the fire pit. It's blazing within minutes, a thick plume of dark smoke spewing forth and rising towards the stars. The wind is blowing in the direction of the lake, so Kurt sits on the opposite side on a double sized recliner that looks comfortable. The last thing he wants is to be sucking wood smoke all night long. The smell will never leave his clothes. 

“You picked the best seat in the house,” Blaine says in his ear, then scoots down to sit next to him on the recliner. 

“Of course I did. That's my M.O.” 

Blaine laughs and takes a swallow of beer. Kurt pretends not to watch the way his lips wrap around the rim of the bottle and especially not the way his throat bobs as he swallows it down. Nope. He is definitely not watching that. 

Flustered, he turns to Mercedes on his other side only to find her giving him a knowing look. He just can't win, and so his last resort is to start drinking himself, even though he promised himself he would take it easy after the night before. He sips the rum and coke that Artie mixed him and laughs along with his friends as Tina and Rachel get told off by Quinn for dumping more lighter fluid on the fire to 'make it bigger'. If it gets any bigger it's going to spread to the house or the surrounding trees. 

Guitars are produced from behind chairs and the group of them fall naturally into a camp fire singalong. It seems a lot like old times with everyone is high spirits as they run through some old classics like _American Pie_ and _Lean on Me_ , followed by a version of _Kumbaya_ that is one half laughter and the other half Rachel. 

“I don't want to bring everyone down when we're having such a great time,” Santana says after the laughter has died down. “But I'd really like to sing a song for Brittany. I knew I wouldn't get through it at the funeral, but out here with all of you guys... I think she would really like it this way. The first time I sang it to her we were alone and she wanted me to be honest then – about who I was and how we felt about each other. I couldn't, not that time, but this time I can and I will. So, Sam and Puck, if you wouldn't mind accompanying me...” 

_For you, there'll be no more crying,_  
For you, the sun will be shining,  
And I feel that when I'm with you,  
It's all right, I know it's right 

_To you, I'll give the world_  
To you, I'll never be cold  
'Cause I feel that when I'm with you,  
It's all right, I know it's right. 

_And the songbirds are singing,_  
Like they know the score,  
And I love you, I love you, I love you,  
Like never before. 

_And I wish you all the love in the world,  
But most of all, I wish it from myself._

_And the songbirds keep singing,_  
Like they know the score,  
And I love you, I love you, I love you,  
Like never before, like never before. 

“You heard Britt and you heard the song,” Santana says after the last note has died in her throat. “No more crying now. No more.” She wipes her own eyes and nods and takes a drink. Everyone is quiet. Kurt feels Blaine's warm body curl in closer to his. He seems to be trembling a little and Kurt leans to the side to offer some measure of comfort. When he hears a sniffle from Blaine's direction he says to hell with it and puts his arm around Blaine's shoulders, pulling him against his own body. He can offer comfort. He can do that. 

Blaine lets out a grateful _thank you_ and snuggles in. His hair tickles against Kurt's cheek. Kurt is tempted to drop a kiss to the top of Blaine's head, and nearly does it before he remembers that it would be inappropriate. He reaches for his rum and coke instead. Some sort of distraction, anything to do with his hands so they don't take one of Blaine's and clutch it for dear life. 

When the silence is beginning to grow uncomfortable, more snuffling and wiping of eyes than having fun, Tina blows her nose and suggests a game. “This is a game I play with my junior music class. Okay – everyone gets one song. You can request it from whomever you choose, but the person can say no. Also, they get to choose which song they sing to you, so pick your songstress or, er... singer? well. Everybody understand the rules?” She smiles brightly as everyone nods at her and then begins shouting out names all around the fire. 

Quinn starts them off – singing Patsy Cline's _Everybody's Somebody's Fool_ for Puck with Sam accompanying her on guitar. Mike repays her by singing Smells Like Teen Spirit for her, and is met with rousing applause. Artie belts out _Brown Eyed Girl_ for Sugar, and Puck sings Adam Ant's _Goody Two Shoes_ for Tina while she dances around the fire. 

Rachel sings Finn a lovely rendition of _And Then He Kissed Me_ that has them making moony eyes at each other over the bonfire. Kurt cringes internally, terrified they're going to take yet another ill advised roll in the hay like they seem to do every couple of years when they're feeling lonely. It never ends in anything but bitterness and tears. 

As Kurt applauds and tries to catch Rachel's attention to shoot her an evil eye and mouth a very firm no, Blaine leans over and whispers in his ear. “Sing me a song?” 

“Hmmm....” Kurt hums teasingly, smiling and taking a drink from his cup. “I'm not sure if I can do justice to _Baby Got Back_ without backing music, though. Can it be pulled off a capella, do you think? You're the expert in that area.” 

Blaine's mouth is hanging open and Kurt can almost feel his blush. “Don't you dare!” he says, his eyes crinkling adorably when Kurt starts to sing _little in the middle but he's got much back_ between his laughter. 

“I'll sing you a song, Blaine. And... _maybe_ not _Baby Got Back_. I'll try to think of something better.” He winks at Blaine, who leans against the back of their shared seat and looks up at the stars as Tina starts singing _I'm A Bitch_ for Santana. 

Kurt ponders his song choice, watching as Blaine's long eyelashes blink slowly and the way his smile never falters. He places a hand on Blaine's knee and gives it a squeeze before sitting up and announcing that he's next. 

_Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band_  
Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man  
Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand  
And now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand 

_Jesus freaks out in the street_  
Handing tickets out for God  
Turning back she just laughs  
The boulevard is not that bad 

_Piano man he makes his stand_  
In the auditorium  
Looking on she sings the songs  
The words she knows the tune she hums 

_But oh how it feels so real_  
Lying here with no one near  
Only you  
And you can hear me  
When I say softly, slowly 

_Hold me closer tiny dancer_  
Count the headlights on the highway  
Lay me down in sheets of linen  
you had a busy day today 

_Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band_  
Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man  
Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand  
And now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand 

_Hold me closer tiny dancer_  
Count the headlights on the highway  
Lay me down in sheets of linen  
you had a busy day today 

Blaine is staring at him, wide eyed when he finishes. He no longer feels the need to chastise Rachel for the way she was longingly gaping at Finn. He's pretty sure he looks just as desperate and ridiculous right about now. 

He feels his cheeks heat up and is glad for the night. He settles back in next to Blaine and takes a long drink. His throat is dry. It's been a long time since he's sung in front of anyone besides Rachel, and now he's done it twice in less than a week. 

“You should never have stopped,” Blaine whispers to him, and presses a dry, chaste kiss to his cheekbone. “Thank you.” Kurt isn't sure if he meant the song, or just singing in general. It takes a long time before the tingling of his cheek lessens even the slightest bit. 

After everyone grows tired of their singalong and the fire is beginning to die down, Sugar suggests that they catch fireflies. It's something Kurt hasn't even thought about attempting since he was five years old and camping in Pennsylvania with his parents, but Blaine looks so excited at the prospect that he can't make himself beg off due to his rapidly cooling extremities. He ends up with a jar and an ecstatic Blaine, tromping through a field, mud squishing under his boots. 

The fireflies are plentiful out here, brighter than the stars. Kurt can almost swear he hears their little bodies buzzing with electricity. Blaine dives and scoops and falls while Kurt giggles into his hands, being of no help. After several attempts, all in vain, Blaine stands, triumphant, screwing the lid onto the jar. His hair is wild in the light of the moon, his smile wide, his knees muddy. He looks blissful. He holds up his prize, marvelling at the wonder of nature. 

The light shines from within the jar in Blaine's hands, making his face glow. He looks up at Kurt, smiling like an excited child, his eyebrows arched and his eyes round and shiny like jewels. And Kurt feels overcome, a tingling sensation buzzing all over his body – his fingertips, the creases of his arms, the backs of his knees. It isn't that he'd forgotten, but God, it's suddenly just so much, so much beauty. Blaine lifts the jar up to his eyes and coos at the fireflies within, promising they will soon be released, and Kurt feels his eyes go soft with the feelings coursing through him for this beautiful, gentle man. It's almost too much to hold in, so he looks away before it bursts out and he isn't able to stuff it all back inside.


	6. Six

****

Six 

The fog is still nestled like a blanket on the lake, diffusing the soft pink light of the morning sun. It's early. Too early to be up after the night before.

Kurt sits in Quinn's paddle boat and slides his fingers through the cool beads of dew that run along its plastic sides. He wishes for a moment that he had been enterprising enough to seek out another early riser to take it out on the lake with him, and yet, it's good to be alone with his thoughts, with just the sloshing of the water against the boat and the twittering of birds for company. 

He'd been awoken again and again throughout the night by variations of the same dream playing out like a movie in his head – at times bright and joyous and others depressing in its hopelessness. What little sleep he did get had been restless, and yet here he sits, continuing to replay it in his mind. Blinking lights and music, screams and kisses going around and around, high up in a dizzying circle. Crying in a park at night. The chirping of a tiny, delicate bird. A casket lowering into the ground – goodbye. Goodbye for the last time. Goodbye forever. A clasp of hands – steady, comfort; and another – hope, mystery, butterflies rushing his stomach, running down a hallway. Accusations in a hallway of a different school where he no longer belongs. Smiles and sunshine and the Ferris Wheel again – always spinning around in circles but getting nowhere. But it's okay. The destination holds so little significance when you're happy on the way. 

He's still thinking about the Ferris Wheel when he feels the boat tip slightly to one side – another body stepping in. 

Blaine looks rumpled and sleepy, his hair a fluffy mass of curls and his clothes more casual than Kurt has yet seen. He settles himself in the seat next to Kurt and takes stock of the boat and the still lake water. “Do you want to take it out?” he asks. He's eyeing Kurt cautiously, like he can sense his strange mood. Kurt just nods in response, not able to get his tongue to form words quite yet. He sits forward with his feet in place as Blaine leans away to unlatch the rope which connects the paddle boat to the dock. 

Blaine doesn't say anything as they work their feet in tandem, propelling the boat forward through the water of the lake. He leaves Kurt to his silence, to his puzzle. Kurt has a build up of feeling in his stomach – a swooping, turning, tingling. It's almost as though he's there, in the dream, in the past, but it's too quiet. Too tranquil. And Blaine is not smiling. He's not laughing and teasing and giving Kurt cotton candy kisses. 

“Remember that day we went to the Allen County Fair with Finn and Rachel?” Kurt asks, breaking into the quiet the way the boat breaks through the lonely patches of fog. “That was a good day.” 

Blaine blinks up at him for a second before a bit of a smile curls across his lips. “It _was_ a good day,” he says. “What made you think of it?” 

“Just something Santana said to me the other night when we were sitting down here. About happiness. I kept having a dream about it last night. I still felt like I was riding the Ferris Wheel when I woke up. I still do a little.” 

Kurt rests back against the seat and places his hands over his middle. He can still feel the swooping sensation. He looks over to where the lake slowly fades into marshland on their left. There is a duck in amongst the cattails giving them the evil eye and he almost wants to laugh. 

He thinks about Blaine then, the day of the Allen County Fair, the way he had viewed him – a perfect vision of a boy almost without fault. He compares that perfect boy to the soft, beautiful, imperfect man sitting next to him with his stubble and unkempt hair and fine lines at the corners of his wide, sincere, beloved eyes. He knows which one of the two he prefers. He wishes he had been as clear of mind when he was eighteen. He wishes there were such things as time machines so he might go back and warn his younger self that there is no such thing as a perfect boy. 

“I never really saw you properly,” he hears his own voice say quietly, almost of its own volition. Blaine perks up, his bushy eyebrows furrowed in an unspoken question. “But I suppose,” Kurt continues, “you were up too high for me to really see, on that lofty pedestal I'd placed you on.” 

Blaine doesn't reply to that and Kurt doesn't look at him. He feels terrible suddenly. He wonders what would have become of them if he'd learned that lesson sooner. If he could have saved them both a lot of pain. “It must have hurt,” he whispers, “when you fell off of it.” 

“I.... Yeah. It really did.” 

“I'm sorry, Blaine. Years too late, but still just as heartfelt.” 

“Thank you.” Blaine's voice is little more than a breath. Kurt continues to stare forward and wonders at the moisture he can feel at the corners of his eyes. Surely he hasn't any tears left to cry over this, not with the gulf of so many years between then and now. 

There is an odd thrumming, a buzzing sound coming from the distance. Kurt looks up as a model air plane swishes and dips overhead, then turns a circle to buzz back in the direction of its owners. The duck looks offended. She ruffles her feathers and plops down from her perch and into the water, paddling further into the reeds. They have stopped their own paddling. Kurt doesn't recall any decision to do so, but there they sit, unmoving and in silence on the surface of the lake. 

“What were one and two?” Blaine asks. He's staring out across the way. There is a boy and his father retrieving their plane and getting ready to send it out on another flight. 

“Hmm?” 

“Your bucket list. Broadway was obviously first... but what was number two?” 

“Broadway was number two, actually.” 

Blaine furrows his brow again; his fingers are fiddling with the ends of his sweater sleeves. “So what was one?” 

Kurt sucks in a deep breath and lets it slowly leave his nose. “Marrying you.” 

It's like all of the sound has been vacuumed away all of a sudden. Kurt can no longer hear the model plane or the birds or the splish splosh of the water slapping against the side of the boat. He knows it's too late to take it back; the words are already out there, alive, floating on the air. Blaine says nothing and Kurt doesn't dare look at him. He starts to move his feet against the peddles, but Blaine doesn't join in and it doesn't work so well with only him. He almost laughs at the irony of that. 

But then Blaine is there. All of Blaine. His hands grasp Kurt's face and his hair tickles against his cheeks and his knee slides between his legs and he's leaning Kurt backwards, and his mouth is right there against Kurt's, moving quickly, pressing and smacking and – 

The boat tips and they are upended into the freezing water of the lake. Kurt sucks in a breath when he surfaces, shocked and shivering. He passes a hand over his eyes to wipe away the drips of water and the hair that has flattened and is hanging there, obscuring his vision. Blaine is treading water next to him, looking sheepish. 

“Blaine Anderson!” Kurt scolds. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to tip over a paddle boat?” 

Blaine widens his eyes and shrugs infinitesimally. He looks like he's tempted to smile, but he's too unsure of the situation to let himself. Kurt treads water for a few moments, staring into his eyes, pretending to be angry, but all he wants to do is smile and laugh. Instead he launches his body forward and grabs Blaine, recapturing his lips. 

He tastes like toothpaste and lake water and the skin of his face is slick and cold, especially his nose as it presses into Kurt's cheek. They both gasp for a single breath, then dive back in, lips and tongues winding and pressing and tugging as the bob up and down, Blaine keeping them above water with his arms and legs as Kurt clings to him. 

As it turns out, getting back into a paddle boat from the water below is even harder than tipping out of one. Every time Kurt rests his weight on the side and attempts to climb up, the opposite side lifts and he tumbles off anew. Blaine seems to find the situation simply hilarious, and keeps his distance, laughing uproariously and taking on mouthfuls of lake water. 

“Careful there, Anderson, you might get a stitch in your side from all the help you're giving me,” Kurt says sarcastically, swimming over to Blaine and poking him in the side. Blaine just grins at him and licks his lips which are quickly turning blue. Kurt places a finger over his bottom one. “We really need to get out of this water,” he says more seriously. “It's too cold yet.” 

Blaine nods his head and swims over to the paddle boat. He holds down the opposite side so that Kurt can climb in. Kurt tries to be graceful, but he ends up toppling over the side and smacking his head into one of the seat backs. “I hate paddle boats,” he grumbles, rubbing the back of his head while Blaine lifts himself in, making the entire boat rock worryingly back and forth, water sloshing up over the side. Kurt throws out his arms to steady the thing. 

“We won't tip again,” Blaine reassures. He helps Kurt back into his seat. “And for the record – paddle boats are my absolute favourite kind of boat,” he adds with a wide grin. 

“Uh huh. Fond childhood memories?” Kurt says with a fond smile. 

“Nope. Just as of today.” Blaine is still grinning at him and he's got water dripping from his drenched curls, running in rivulets down his cheeks and his forehead and over his blue lips. He's shivering and his sweater and jeans and sticking to him like second skin. He looks like a drowned puppy. And yet, he's still grinning from ear to ear, literally beaming. 

“Let's get back and dried off, Romeo,” Kurt tells him with a shake of his head. He wonders if the joy he feels is pouring from his eyes like it is from Blaine's. He hopes so. He doesn't want there to be any confusion about his feelings on the matter. 

 

They get mocked upon entering the house. “How the hell did you manage to fall into the lake?” Artie asks. 

“All Blaine's fault,” Kurt says, poking his thumb at the culprit. But Blaine looks nothing if not completely proud of himself. 

Quinn arches an eyebrow and smirks when he passes her near the door to his room, a necessary detour on his way to a hot shower. 

When he comes back down feeling much cozier, the house is empty of everyone but Sam and Blaine. They're sitting in the living room and laughing together. “Where did everyone go?” Kurt asks. 

“Apparently they took our earlier mishap as inspiration,” Blaine answers. 

He hears a loud whoop from outside and what sounds like the hum of an engine, followed by a chorus of _oooohhhhh_ and a lot of laughter. 

“What the hell are they doing?” 

“Pulling each other around on an inner tube.”

“Oh Jesus, with the power boat?” 

“Yep.” Blaine grins at him as he shakes his head. He can only imagine that it must have Puck or Finn's idea. 

“Well good luck to them. That water is frigid.” 

Sam laughs and gets up from the sofa. “I'm getting in on that action, cold or not. You're not coming?”

“I just rewarmed thanks.” Kurt shakes his head some more as Sam goes past. “Enjoy.”

“Will do, man!” 

Blaine smiles at him from the sofa. After Sam has shut the door rather loudly behind him, Kurt turns and joins Blaine. “Are they all insane? It's not like we purposely went for an ice bath.” 

Blaine lets out one quick bark of a laugh and then goes quiet. He's tracing his fingers over the stripes on the sofa's upholstery, his brow straight and serious, his dark eyelashes casting shadows on his cheekbones. “Worth it though. At least for me.” 

The meaning of his statement, of his look, is not lost on Kurt. He stretches his hand across and places it over Blaine's wandering one. He gives Blaine's hand a little squeeze. “Hot kisses are totally worth a dunk in the lake. And a few mouthfuls of lake water. And whatever nastiness might be lurking within its depths.” 

Blaine turns over his hand and laces their fingers together. His hands are soft, strong, familiar. Kurt has to force his eyes away, to stop himself from watching as his own thumb traces a path up and down the side of Blaine's and Blaine begins to copy the movement, a battle of caresses. 

“Should we go out and watch the madness? We might get some good blackmail videos,” Kurt says. His voice comes out timid, breathy. He's always hated when his voice sounds that way. 

Blaine tears his eyes away from their hands to look up at Kurt. “Yeah. Sure. We can... if you want.” 

Kurt is loath to pull his hand away, but he needs to go find his phone in order to film any of the tubing shenanigans. 

 

He can just make out Puck's bald head behind the wheel of the speed boat in the distance, zooming around the lake. On the tube trailing after it, bumping and pitching and yelling, is Finn. 

“Oh my God, those idiots,” Kurt mutters while Blaine laughs next to him, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. 

Mercedes and Tina are hollering from the shore, jumping and laughing and cheering. Sam is sitting on the dock next to Quinn, awaiting their turns on the inner tube of death. 

Finn lets out a particularly loud grunting yell, the inner tube teetering precariously back and forth. Puck picks up speed and the tube hits a pocket of water, and Finn is down, flipped over and out as Rachel gasps and covers her eyes and lays her head up against Mike's shoulder, which is bopping her up and down as he cracks up laughing. Quinn hollers at Puck to stop and double back. It takes a few seconds for Finn to reappear and everyone cheers as Puck hauls him up into the speed boat and drives back in the direction of the dock. 

“Yeah, okay, I've changed my mind,” Kurt says to Blaine, his heart only just leaving his throat. “I don't want to watch this after all. Call me if my CPR skills are required.” He pats Blaine on the shoulder and Blaine clasps his hand, keeping him from turning tail and heading back into the house. 

“I'll come with you,” he says. 

“You don't have to. You can stay and enjoy the idiots if you want.” 

Blaine smiles and shakes his head. “I'd rather be with you.” 

Kurt's heart swells and he looks away, embarrassed by his reddening cheeks. He never blushes with anything but anger these days. It's been a strange adjustment since he's been back in Blaine's presence. 

They only get as far as the verandah and settle on the swing there. 

They rock back and forth in silence, enjoying the light breeze that brings in the fragrant scent of the lilacs bushes that line the driveway. Kurt closes his eyes and breathes it in. It's peaceful. At least until he hears another loud roar of voices from down by the lake. He snaps his eyes open with a sigh to find Blaine watching him. 

“Why did you laugh when I asked you if you were married?” he asks. 

Kurt snorts a laugh. “Oh, well a comedic montage of my last several dates played in my head and I couldn't help myself. But seriously – I haven't been in a serious relationship for more than three years. And that one ended pretty messily, so...” 

Blaine tilts his head to one side and turns, curling one leg up under him and continuing to propel the swing forward with his other foot. “What happened?”

“He cheated on me with my assistant. A brand new twist on a tired cliché!” Kurt adds in a bright voice. “One good thing did come out of it, though – a new assistant. And Lacey is so much better than Tara ever was.” 

“He cheated on you with a woman?” 

“Yep. Never saw that one coming. Got her pregnant, too. Guess she never saw it coming either.” Kurt grins and runs his fingers up the chain links that hold the swing to the ceiling of the verandah. He can find humour in the situation now. It hadn't been quite so funny at the time. “I heard he took off to Europe and left her with the kid. Stand up guy. I obviously have stellar taste in men,” he adds and chuckles, flattening his feet out on the floor and rocking them a little more quickly. 

Blaine's expression is drooping, his entire face looks sad from his eyebrows and his big eyes to his turned down lips and chin. Kurt reaches across and takes his hand, giving it a squeeze. “I wasn't talking about you, dummy,” he says, trying to make light. 

But Blaine stays silent. Kurt feels terrible and wishes he had never brought up that mess with Robert and Tara. He doesn't even give a damn about it any more. He lets his mind wander back over the past few years and finds he doesn't really give a damn about a lot of things. He takes another deep breath, the scent of the lilacs soothing. 

“Rachel used to accuse me of comparing every guy I ever dated to you,” he says, smiling out at the trees. The swing creaks under them, Kurt's feet thumping lightly heel to toe on the wood floor of the verandah. 

“And did you?” Blaine asks, his voice quiet. 

“Oh yes. Of course I did. There were Venn Diagrams and complicated flow charts – the whole shebang.”

He turns and grins at Blaine and he laughs, which was exactly what Kurt was aiming for. “And even with your small stature –”

“Hey! No short jokes!”

“– they still never managed to measure up.” 

Blaine's eyes go soft and he places his elbow on the back of the swing and rests his head in his open palm. He just sits and watches Kurt for a moment, a small smile on his lips. He looks content, so Kurt does nothing to disturb him. It's not because he's enjoying the way Blaine is looking at him or anything. No. Nothing of the sort. 

“I do that, too,” Blaine says finally. “It was always you and I just... They were never you.” He lets out a little huff of a laugh and shakes his head back and forth once, making the swing bounce around. 

“So you never considered getting hitched either?”

“Nah. I've only had one what _I_ considered to be serious relationship. Well, besides you and me... But, um...” Blaine clears his throat. He looks embarrassed, as if Kurt is going to refute his belief that their relationship had been serious. “Well, he and I, we were together for nearly three years and I never once considered it.”

“What happened?”

“Um... well, we were having problems already and it just sort of culminated and... um...” Blaine's face is flushed. He turns his head to hide it in the palm of his hand for a second. When he turns back he won't quite meet Kurt's eye. “God, this is so...”

“You aren't under any obligation to tell me, you know. Not that I don't want to know, because I have to admit that my curiosity is extremely piqued, what with your cheeks blazing a frightening shade of fuchsia and all...”

Blaine huffs a laugh and hides his face in his hand again for a moment, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “Okay, um... well, I'd had quite a lot to drink, you have to understand, and I... I called him you.”

Kurt didn't know what it was he had expected, but it certainly wasn't that. His eyes widen. “Excuse me?” 

“Oh God. We were, um... _you know_ , and I said your name and... That was the final nail in the coffin, so to speak.” 

Kurt has the urge to giggle, but he stifles it. Blaine is already mortified enough. “I'm so sorry.” 

“So not your fault,” Blaine says. He starts to laugh a little, so Kurt feels less guilt at joining in. “Well, maybe a little bit your fault,” Blaine adds as an afterthought. Kurt snorts and slaps him playfully on the thigh. 

“When was this?” he asks.

“Not long enough ago not to be weird.” 

Kurt laughs harder and Blaine gets even pinker. “It was just – I'd been thinking about you a lot. A lot of things crossing my path were reminding me of you, of us, and then I can remember, at the Christmas party we were attending that night they played _Baby, It's Cold Outside_ and.... you were on my mind.” 

“Oh, _honey_.” Kurt pats Blaine's leg again. But he can't stop himself from teasing. “Was it this past Christmas, Blaine?” 

Blaine hangs his head. “No. The one before that.” 

Kurt snorts a laugh, covering his mouth with his hand. “It's okay, Blaine. You don't have to explain. Or be embarrassed. I think about you a lot, too. And that song... well, let's just say it's been banned from my holiday celebrations for a long time now.”

“Too many bad memories?” Blaine asks. His voice is quiet now.

Kurt shakes his head and smiles sadly at him. “Too many good ones.” 

Blaine sucks in a breath, his eyes lowering to glance down at Kurt's mouth. They lean in at the same time. Their lips brush almost timidly at first, then more sure. Blaine sucks Kurt' s bottom lip into his mouth, then lets it go and slides his tongue out, licking across the top one. Kurt picks one of his feet up off the floor in order to lean in further, to get closer to Blaine's body, and wraps his arms around his neck, opening his mouth fully, his tongue twisting around Blaine's and pulling it into his mouth. 

The swing creaks and sways under them. 

 

Rachel corners him in their room after dinner, during which he and Blaine sat very close together at the dining room table and spoke quietly, barely remembering to eat. Kurt isn't one hundred percent sure of what is going on between them, but he knows that it's definitely _something_. 

“Okay, I've kept my mouth shut long enough,” is her lead in. Kurt can't wait for her follow up. 

“And that is truly a marvel; I should know. It must have been very difficult for you.” She slaps him on the arm and crawls up on their bed, tucking her legs up under her. 

“Out with it, you. I would tell you everything if it was me.”

“Yes. In vivid detail. And I would be duly traumatized.”

“Ku _urt_.”

He rolls his eyes. “I don't know, Rachel! There have been some kisses and holding hands and talking. I don't know what you want me to tell you!” 

“Is he your _boyfriend_? Are you gonna have _babies_ and get _married_ and buy a house in the suburbs with a white picket fence? And even more importantly...” She pauses dramatically. “...are you going to sex him up all night long?”

Kurt tosses a random article of clothing at her that he finds hanging over the back of the desk chair and she cackles and sticks out her tongue. 

“I told you: I have no idea. I'm just going with the flow at the moment. But I – well, I don't want to get my hopes up, okay? If there is any advancement in that direction you'll be the first to know, all right? Well, third. After myself, and of course Blaine.”

“Blaine!” Rachel giggles and throws herself backwards on the bed and kicks her feet into the air. “I knew it! I knew it! I knew it!” she sing-songs. “You guys are soul mates and you're going to sex him up _all night long_.”

Kurt looks for something more substantial to throw at her. “No one is sexing anybody up all night long, okay? God, I swear you are fifteen years old still.” 

She giggles some more while Kurt gets out his laptop and checks his e-mail. There are messages from his underlings at work, but nothing serious. Not that they aren't trying to make the issues out to be much more of a big deal than they are, but he's used to that. He starts to reply to the most recent one when he feels Rachel's hand on his forearm. 

“Kurt? I know you're trying not to get your hopes up. I know you're worried about being hurt again. But... be open to it, okay? To love. I worry about you sometimes. I know it's been hard, but, well, you're worth it. And he's special. I'll never think anyone completely deserves you, but he comes closest.” 

“Rachel –”

“I mean it. Don't sit behind your walls sharpening your tongue, poised and ready for the inevitable battle. I know it's instinctive for you, but... Just try, okay?”

Kurt shuts his laptop, his half written e-mail still open on the screen, and swivels the chair so that he's facing her. “So you don't think it's too soon? Too sudden? It's been so long, I –”

“No, Kurt. I think it's the best idea you've had in years. If the tables were turned and it was me and Finn? Well, we were a train wreck. Right from the start. But not you two. You were always perfect up until you weren't. If you can mend that small fracture and get back to perfect, why wouldn't you? You deserve it. You deserve to be happy.”

“But what if this is just a fling for him, or...?”

Rachel sighs and crouches down, placing both of her hands on Kurt's knees. “I've seen the way that boy looks at you. He's in deep, Kurt. In fact, I'm pretty sure he never resurfaced after the last plunge.” 

She pats his knees and gets up, pecking him on the top of the head before heading for the door. “Be careful,” she says. “Just not _too_ careful. That's all I'm saying.” And she's gone, the door clicking shut behind her. 

 

They spend the evening reminiscing about Brittany. It's just the kind of memorial Kurt is sure is exactly what she would have wanted. They tell stories, sing songs, Kurt even pulls out his old yearbook so that everyone can flip through. It's like a storm cloud has passed over them all and they can breathe a sigh of relief. Now it feels okay for the laughs to outnumber the tears. Even Santana seems all right, but Kurt gives her an extra firm hug just in case. She nods at him and winks and pecks him on the cheek. 

He doesn't spend every second of the evening near Blaine, but he doesn't shy away from him either. Rachel gives him several pleased looking smiles whenever she sees the two of them together, which Kurt sincerely hopes that Blaine doesn't catch. She's like an overbearing mother proud of her kid for going on his first date. Kurt rolls his eyes at her when she gives him a thumbs up. She ups the ante and starts making rather sexual looking gestures and Kurt clears his throat and asks Blaine if he'd like to step outside with him to get some air. It's been drizzling a bit, and the humidity in the house is becoming unbearable. Quinn grins at them from where she is cracking open a window as they pass her on their way to the front door. 

“What was Rachel doing?” Blaine asks. He looks confused, so Kurt is pretty sure he didn't catch her gestures. Or at least he didn't understand them. 

“Being Rachel,” Kurt says, his mouth stretching wide in a yawn. 

Blaine lets it go. “Tired?” 

“Yeah. Too many late nights I guess. And Rachel hogs the entire bed. Hard to believe it possible, what with the size of her.” 

Blaine hums his agreement and looks around. It's no longer raining but there is a constant drip of rainwater falling from the roof and bouncing against the steps. He sticks a hand out, palm up, and catches some of it as Kurt watches him. 

“You could stay with me. I mean, if you want. And if Rachel will be okay...” Blaine stumbles over his words a little and wipes his wet palm on his sweater. 

Kurt smirks at him. “Are you asking me to sleep with you, Blaine?”

“No. I mean, yes. But not like... we don't have to do anything. I mean, unless you want to?” His eyebrows are arched high on his forehead, questioning. 

Kurt has the urge to giggle. He crooks his finger at Blaine instead. “Come here, you,” he says. Blaine laughs a little nervously and takes two steps forward. Kurt pulls him against his body by two fistfuls of his sweater and places an open mouthed kiss on his lips. He pulls back just slightly and pecks Blaine on the nose. “Which room are you staying in? Do we need to kick anybody out?” 

Blaine lets out a laugh and presses forward, chasing Kurt's lips. “No. I, um... I'm in a tent actually. I brought a tent. Thought it would be nice to sleep outside...”

“You are asking me to sleep in a tent with you? On the ground. _Me_?” 

Blaine runs a hand through his hair and bites his lip, holding back a smile. “I have a camp bed. I'm not that hardcore.” 

Kurt huffs. “Me?” 

“Yep.” Blaine's eyes are shining with amusement now. He knows Kurt is teasing. Very few people have ever been able to read him so well and most always take him far more seriously than they ought to. 

Kurt makes a growling noise deep in his throat. “If it was anyone else but you I would... well, I would tell them to kindly go fuck themselves.”

“But... since it's me?” Blaine gives him a hopeful smile, leaning back to look up coyly into his eyes. He even flutters his ridiculously long eyelashes at him, the bastard. 

Kurt growls again and pulls away. “Ugh! I'll go get changed.” 

He hears Blaine let out a triumphant _yay!_ and the thud of his feet hitting the deck as though he jumped up in celebration. Kurt grins all the way to his room.


	7. Seven

****

Seven 

When he finds Blaine again, dressed in flannel pyjama bottoms and a tight white t shirt – _yum_ – he's brushing his teeth over near the trees and rinsing with a bottle of water.

“You've even been brushing your teeth outside?” Kurt asks, rucking his bag further up his shoulder. “Big mountain man, huh?” 

Blaine laughs and spits out a mouthful of toothpaste into the grass. “That's me. I'll be your burly captive this evening.”

“Ooh, are we gonna play that game?” Kurt teases. “Fun.” 

Blaine looks a little unsure, and Kurt realizes that this side of him is new to Blaine. The Kurt he knew was always hesitant and shy about intimacy and would never have made such a joke. For the first time since saying yes he feels like maybe he's making a mistake. He turns towards the tent in amongst the trees. “Home sweet home?” he asks. 

“For the past few days. Come on, I'll give you the tour.”

Blaine puts his arm around Kurt's shoulders and leads him to the tent, only letting go when it's necessary for him to lean down and unzip it. 

There is indeed a camp bed, Kurt discovers when he bends over and crawls inside, bouncing on it and toppling over while Blaine kneels on solid ground and laughs. 

“You could have warned me, you ass!” Kurt scolds with a giggle, righting himself and tossing his bag in the corner. 

“Oh, yeah. Kurt, by the way, the bed takes up nearly the entire space inside so be careful going in.”

“Smart ass. You are so getting a spanking later,” Kurt says, then stops abruptly and tells himself to shut up. He's got to stop doing that or this whole evening is going to wind up being uncomfortable to the extreme. 

“Well I would certainly not complain about that,” Blaine teases back. And okay, he got over that quickly. Kurt breathes a sigh of relief and budges over so that Blaine can climb in next to him. 

After everything is zipped up they both crawl under the blankets and snuggle close together. Blaine even has two pillows set out. Kurt squishes his up perfectly under his head and touches his foot to Blaine's leg. They just lay there smiling at each other in the minimal light. 

“Hi,” Blaine says after a moment. He's grinning and Kurt can't help but return it. He has always had an infectious smile. 

“Hi yourself.”

“This is nice,” Blaine says. 

Kurt hums his agreement and Blaine reaches out under the blankets and takes a hold of one of his hands. He pulls it up above the covers and places a kiss on Kurt's knuckles, then smiles and tucks the hand under his cheek. 

“Been wanting to do that for a while,” Blaine says. He looks like a mixture of embarrassed and shy and extremely pleased with himself. An odd combination. 

“Well I am all for doing the things that you want,” Kurt tells him. 

It's silent for a second, almost like the night has stopped all movement and Kurt can't even hear either of their breathing, so maybe that has stopped as well. He's not sure which one of them moves first, but he soon has Blaine's shoulders pinned to the bed and is half on top of him, their mouths moving in tandem. There is no moment of uncertainty or awkwardness, they know each other too well. 

“Kurt,” Blaine moans, tangling his fingers in the short hairs at the back of Kurt's neck and leading him down to his throat, where Kurt pulls the flesh between his lips, sucking and licking and gasping. 

Their clothes come off slowly, between feverish kisses and hands and fingers that caress and clutch and reach. Kurt sits up between Blaine's splayed thighs and takes him in – he's leaning back on his elbows, his own eyes sweeping over Kurt's pale skin. His shoulders are wide – wider than they'd been the last time Kurt had seen him this way – then tapering inward, his chest, his ribcage, his soft, downy hair covered tummy, to his tiny waist. Between the sharp jut of his hipbones lays his cock, hard and dark and curving towards his navel, a neat thatch of pubic hair underneath. 

Kurt tears his gaze away when he finds his mouth flooding with saliva at the sight. Licking his lips, he lets his eyes trail back up Blaine's body until they are silently watching each other. Kurt's voice is thick with arousal when he speaks. “Do you have any lube?” 

“Um, no.” Blaine says. His voice sounds as thick as Kurt's. He swipes his tongue over his lips and clears his throat before continuing. “I tend not to bring lube when I fly across the country to attend a funeral. Even when I know you're going to be there.” 

Kurt lifts one eyebrow and taps a finger on Blaine's knee. “What is that supposed to mean? That I'm some sort of floozy or something?” 

Blaine's eyes go from hooded to wide and mildly panicked in less than half a second. “No! I – well, I mean... I can wish in a non-concrete sort of way – well, pretty concrete in this case, but... I mean, I didn't actually _expect_... Not in my wildest dreams did I think anything would actually – no matter how badly I wanted it to, I – ”

Kurt has to bite his lip to keep from laughing. He cups his hand around Blaine's kneecap and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Blaine, you can stop babbling, sweetie. I was just kidding. And you know, I think I've got some lotion in my bag...” Kurt sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and glances around the inside of the tent. When he spots his bag he bends forward, pulling it over by the straps and unhooking the clasps. 

“Lotion?” Blaine sounds about ready to burst out laughing. 

When Kurt pulls the small bottle triumphantly from his satchel and tosses the bag back where he found it, Blaine lets out a guffaw, followed by many others until his legs and spread even further apart and he's holding onto his middle, the quaking of his legs rubbing against Kurt's side. 

Kurt stares down at him, popping the top of the lotion bottle and squirting a generous amount into the palm of his hand. “Are you laughing at me?” he asks. Blaine shakes his head, but doesn't stop. Kurt leans forward, rubbing his fingers against his palm, and then his clean hand against his slick one, warming the cool cream. “I guarantee you're going to stop in 5, 4, 3, 2... wait for it...” He places his hands at the tip of Blaine's cock, applying a minute amount of pressure. “Now.” And Blaine throws back his head and lets out a gasp as Kurt begins working his slippery hands up and down his shaft and over the head of his cock. 

“Kurt,” he groans. 

“Mmmm... Oh how I hate to say I told you so,” Kurt says, his voice breathy as his eyes focus entirely on the way his hands are working over Blaine's cock, up and back down and catching just slightly under the ridge on the way back up. 

“Go right ahead,” Blaine stutters out. He pitches his hips forward, lifting his ass off the camp bed. “You've earned it.”

Kurt hums again and scooches forward in the circle of Blaine's legs. “Not yet,” he says, and still holding Blaine's cock in between both of his hands, slips one leg over Blaine's thigh and then the other, so that his knees are resting on either side of his hips. 

He bends over Blaine's prone form, aligning their mouths and pressing a hot sucking kiss to Blaine's lips before weakening his hold on Blaine's cock. Blaine whimpers his displeasure at this, but he is soon hissing and bucking his hips, for Kurt has rested his own cock against Blaine's and wrapped his hands around both, sliding them slowly together in the slickness of the lotion. 

Blaine pushes upward again. “Kurt,” he whines, wanting more friction. 

Kurt rubs more firmly, using the motion of his hips as well as his hands to grind their erections together as Blaine half sits up, straining forward, open-mouthed and chasing Kurt's lips. They crash together, and Kurt takes one hand off their cocks to slide into Blaine's hair, pulling his face closer, taking his lips in a fiercer kiss. He lets his body rest fully against Blaine's, both of them hissing as their cocks fall together, sliding, rubbing as Kurt uses his knees as leverage to grind down. 

Blaine is whispering his name over and over into the crook of his neck as they rut together. “Kurtkurtkurtkurt.” It sounds too reverent; it makes him feel soft and floaty and strange, jangled like a broken guitar string. His rhythm is off, he's bucking strangely and Blaine grabs him by the hip and angles to the right, trying to pick up the slack. But he doesn't stop. He doesn't stop his whispering. It's almost as though he needs the constant reminder of whose body it is over him, touching him, making his skin flush pink and warm and his cock ache for release. 

“You don't have to whisper,” Kurt rasps, trying to make light of it, trying to stop the strange fluttering in his chest. “No one is going to get mad at you for shouting my name. Not tonight.” 

Blaine gasps out a laugh and Kurt tightens his thighs around Blaine's hips, thrusting down and across so that their cocks rub together blissfully. “Fuck. Kurt. Gonna come. So soon.” 

“You can come, my beautiful Blaine. It's okay.” 

Blaine makes a sound somewhere between a moan and a whimper, and presses up as Kurt presses down, curling his hands around Blaine's biceps and rutting more quickly, thrusting their cocks together over and over through the slickness of their sweat and what's left of the lotion. 

There is almost no warning before Blaine is coming, his back in a perfect arch, and almost toppling Kurt to the bed, his warm come shooting out in thick, pearly stripes all over his own belly and the head of Kurt's cock. 

“Kur _urt_ ,” he says one last time, broken, sated, his eyes closing and his breaths coming out in exhausted pants. He places one hand on the curve of Kurt's ass and motions him forward. Kurt hadn't even realized that he'd stopped, so mesmerized by Blaine's orgasm. 

It only takes four more swipes of his cock over Blaine's softening one and through the slipperiness of his release before Kurt is groaning and twitching forward and letting out a long, low moan against Blaine's sweat-slick throat. 

They lay there without speaking, Kurt's face pressed into the curve of Blaine's neck as he pants, a bead of sweat dripping from his hair and down the back of his neck. He wants to reach around and wipe it away, but he's far too lethargic. Spent. He can't remember the last time he's felt so utterly spent. So he rests there and waits to catch his breath while his sweat cools and their come dries on his and Blaine's skin. 

When his breathing has evened out, he rolls over onto his side and lays his head farther down over Blaine's heart. He hears a little sniffle and feels Blaine's fingers begin to card through his sweat-damp hair. He nuzzles against Blaine's chest. He's got more hair there than Kurt remembers; it's soft and silky and masculine and Kurt finds that he quite likes it. He hears another quiet sniffle. And then another. He lifts his head. 

“Blaine, are you crying, sweetheart?” 

Blaine shakes his head and sniffles again. “No,” he whispers. 

“Okay,” Kurt whispers back. He strains up to place a gentle kiss on Blaine's lips. They taste like salt. “Okay.” 

He hears Rachel's words from earlier playing in his head. _I'm pretty sure he never resurfaced after the last plunge_.

He kisses Blaine again and wraps his arms securely around his body. 

 

In the morning when he wakes up, groggy and damp from sleeping out of doors, he nuzzles his cold nose against Blaine's side and runs his fingers over the bumps of his spine all the way down to the dimples at the small of his back, and up again until Blaine grunts into his pillow and lifts his bleary head. 

“Kurt. Mmmm.” He rolls over and hugs Kurt to his warm body and presses a kiss to his disaster of hair. 

“Good morning,” Kurt tells him. 

“Good morning indeed.” Kurt giggles and wraps his arms around Blaine's back, where he lets his fingers wander, tracing words and patterns over every inch of skin within reach. 

“Can I get you breakfast, beautiful?” Blaine asks, his voice still thick with sleep. Kurt warms at the compliment. In all the time he and Blaine had been together, he doesn't remember Blaine once telling him he was beautiful. He had always felt like the ugly duckling next to Blaine and it had been one of his greatest insecurities in their relationship. 

“It's the least you can do after I put out for you last night,” Kurt teases. Blaine pauses, his hands stopping their stroking of Kurt's skin. “Oh my God, Blaine, I was only kidding.” 

“I know,” Blaine tells him after a second. “I just... I've missed you. _So much_.”

“I've missed you, too.”

Blaine turns Kurt in his arms and leans over to rest their foreheads together. “I guess I forgot how funny you were – are.”

Kurt snorts a laugh and smacks Blaine on the ass. “Well? I believe I was promised breakfast, garçon.” 

 

Breakfast is a little bit sombre due to the fact that Mike and Artie are leaving directly afterwards. They're travelling together and need to get back to their wives in Chicago. 

“Allie could go any day now,” Mike says. “Her official due date is in three weeks, but we've been warned. Plus, she's as big as a house, but don't tell her I said that!” 

“Yeah, I gotta get back to my baby, too,” Artie tells them. “The little hooligan is probably driving Nancy crazy by now. He doesn't sleep all that well yet. I'll miss you guys! Next New Directions reunion in Chi-Town, y'all!” 

Everyone gathers around for hugs and goodbyes. 

When Mike and Artie pull away, backing slowly down Quinn's long driveway, waving at the entire group assembled on the front lawn, Mercedes is the first to cry. 

“I can't believe I gotta go back to Vegas tomorrow. I'm gonna miss you guys so much!” 

There is a chorus of _awwwws_ and a group hug that it a lot more like a pile up with poor Mercedes at ground zero. Kurt wipes at Tina's leaking eyes while she does the same for Rachel. 

“We are doing this again, you guys!” Rachel says adamantly, stamping her foot on the lawn. “I don't care where we go or if people bring kids or husbands or wives or cats – we're doing this again. And soon. We can't just keep saying later and later and pretending it doesn't matter. It does matter. We have something special, and we shouldn't be off living our lives without being involved in one anothers'.” 

People nod their agreements and begin discussing the wheres and hows, but Kurt finds their chatter drifting farther and farther until it is nothing but fuzzy noise like a radio off its station. He can't focus on them. Not when Blaine is pressed up close behind him, his chin hooked over his shoulder. He can smell his aftershave and his hair product and underneath that, Kurt's own shampoo, which Blaine had used when they'd snuck inside early in the morning to shower together before anyone else was awake. How can he concentrate on anything but that? His senses are overloaded as it is. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply. Blaine's voice rumbles against his shoulder, saying he's willing to go anywhere, it doesn't matter to him. Kurt nods along with him. Sure. Whatever he says is fine with Kurt. 

 

An hour later they are all sitting listlessly in the living room when Sam perks up. 

“I have the best idea ever, guys! We should have an old fashioned game of Capture the Flag!” 

It is decided that Rachel and Finn should be the team captains, seeing as that was their role in glee club. Rachel wins the seemingly never ending rock, paper, scissors duel – _best three out of five, best seven out of nine!_ – and gets first pick for her team. 

“Oh great, high school all over again,” Kurt mutters to Blaine. “How I've missed being picked last for everything.”

Blaine shakes his head fondly and squeezes Kurt's hand. 

Rachel chooses Puck, and Finn curses loudly and vehemently, saying it wasn't fair while Rachel cackles. Finn chooses Sam. 

“Kurt!” Rachel shouts out next and Blaine winks at him and shoves him gently in her direction. 

“Rachel,” Kurt whispers to her, as Finn and Sam get into an overly serious discussion about who they need next and who they should rob Rachel of. “You should have picked someone who's actually good.”

Rachel pokes him in the arm. “You are good. You're my best,” she says. 

“Quinn!” Finn hollers. He gives Rachel a smug look as though he has foiled all her evil plans. She just smiles sweetly at him and asks for Blaine to please join her team. 

“I told you, man! I told you to pick Blaine,” Sam mutters mutinously and Rachel starts her cackling anew. 

What Rachel didn't realize then was that she had just made a grievous error that would lead to her team's downfall. 

 

“We'll guard the flag,” Kurt says in a bored voice. He reaches out to grab the blue bandana from Puck's hand. Puck holds it away from him and gives him a stern look. 

“Dude, are you sure you want to be responsible for our team's life in this game? It's the most important job of all, soldier. The Troubadours are counting on you. We can't let Finn and his Directioneers take this from us. Think of the children.”

Kurt rolls his eyes and makes another grab for their flag, this time successful. “Am I at summer camp? I've never even been to summer camp and I suddenly feel like I'm at summer camp.” 

“All right, then,” Puck says. “Good luck, gentleman.” He salutes them before turning swiftly and disappearing into the trees. Mercedes and Rachel take another direction, sneaking away with snickers and the swishing of bushes and tree branches breaking underfoot. 

Blaine holds out his hand for the bandana and Kurt passes it over. He watches as Blaine climbs up a sloping poplar tree and wraps it in its branches. 

“That should make plenty of noise should anyone go for it,” he says, pleased with himself. 

“Why do we need the noise?” Kurt asks. 

“Hmm.... Because we might be a little distracted. You know, because of this.” He seats himself on the ground, his back to a large flat rock and pulls Kurt down into his lap. 

They're making out pretty heavily, Kurt grinding down on Blaine's erection and sucking on his neck while Blaine moans and his fingers cut into Kurt's hips so hard that it's almost painful, when Blaine places his hand gently on the back of Kurt's head. 

“This is serious for me,” he says quietly, his voice thick with arousal and broken by his heavy breaths. 

Kurt pulls away from his neck, cringing a little at the red mark that his ministrations have left on Blaine's skin. _Oops_. “Was I making it seem as if it wasn't for me?” he asks worriedly. 

“No, I... I just wanted to make sure you know.” 

Kurt smiles and presses a kiss to his lips before climbing off his lap and sitting down next to him. Blaine lets out a pathetic little mewl of disagreement and a _no don't_ and tries to pull Kurt back into his lap as Kurt laughs. He sits and stares into the trees for a moment. 

“You weren't talking about the game being serious, were you?” he asks Blaine. “Because I'm pretty sure our flag is gone.” Oops indeed. 

 

“I heard a rumour that our team lost because Kurt and Blaine were makin' out,” Puck says, coming into the clearing. 

“Not a rumour,” Tina pipes up, waving the blue bandana flag triumphantly in the air. “And they weren't just making out. They were going to town. Full on grinding. Outdoor sexing. Don't try and deny it, I was the one who captured your flag and I saw you,” she adds, turning to Kurt and Blaine with a smug look on her face. 

“I was with her,” Sugar says. “It was hot.” 

“I can't believe you didn't notice them,” Rachel says, still smarting from the loss and the way Finn keeps rubbing it in. He told her he's a better team captain than she is, and she's letting it get to her far too much. 

“They were too busy capturing each others' flags,” Quinn says with a wicked grin. 

Kurt snorts. “Hey, no one's flag was actually captured. We were rudely interrupted by Puck's mournful wail at the realization that he'd lost. It was kind of a mood killer.” 

“Sorry dude,” Pucks says. “What can I say? I hate to lose.” 

“So do I,” Kurt mutters under his breath. Blaine throws him a surreptitious wink. 

“Aren't you ashamed of yourself, Hummel?” Puck asks, turning to Kurt. Kurt just shrugs disinterestedly and picks at his nails. Puck turns his attention on Blaine. “Anderson? You brought shame to your team. You have sullied the name of the Troubadours.”

“I'm pretty proud of myself, if truth be told. And I think the Troubadours would forgive me. All in the name of romance, et cetera,” Blaine tells him. 

Pucks throws back his head and laughs. “I was totally joking, dudes. Get it.” He puts up his fist and Blaine punches it. 

When he puts it there in front of Kurt for him to do the same, he just stares blankly with one eyebrow raised. “Seriously?” 

But Puck will not let up. Kurt heaves a sigh and hits his fist halfheartedly into Puck's. 

Everyone cheers and Blaine laughs loudly, grabbing Kurt around the waist and jokingly pulling him into the bushes while everyone eggs him on.


	8. Eight

****

Eight

After lunch, Quinn pulls Kurt aside. “There's this gorgeous spot up the hill,” she says in a whisper. “It's where I want to scatter Brittany's ashes. I've never taken anyone up there before.” She zones out, her eyes faraway and shiny with tears. She clears her throat after a pause and blinks them back. “Santana and Rachel are coming and I'd really like it if you would come as well. Blaine too, if he'd like.”

And so the four of them put on comfortable shoes and follow Quinn down the road and up through a path almost hidden in between the evergreens. 

It's quiet as the climb steadily higher, with only the whistling of the wind through the trees and the occasional far off tittering of a squirrel. It's peaceful and the air smells fresh and clean. Kurt stops to breathe it in, fingering the soft leaves of a bright red bush and bending down to smell some little white flowers. By the time he's realized the others have kept moving, he's several paces behind. 

When he catches back up the four of them are in the middle of a conversation. Santana seems upset. 

“I just don't think I can go back there and be in all of our places, you know?”

“So don't,” Rachel says. 

“It's not that easy.”

“Sure it is. You make your living running a blog. You can do that from anywhere. Like say, my apartment in New York.” 

“Or _my_ apartment in New York,” Kurt chimes in. 

“How about mine,” Quinn suggests with one hand on her hip and the other on Santana's back, leading her away from Rachel and Kurt. “Because the co-dependency twins need some grownup time by themselves for a while.” 

“Oh, blow me, Dr. Bitchface,” Kurt tells her. 

“Produce the goods and I'll see what I can do.” 

Santana laughs loudly, pulling away from Quinn's arm. “Well, it's nice to be fought over, kids. I'll consider it, okay?” 

“I've been thinking,” she continues. The five of them are just strolling along now, a slow but steady pace. They keep Santana at the centre of the group, surrounded, shielded, as if they can block her from her own misery by encircling her with their bodies. “I think I want to have a baby.” 

“Me too!” Rachel exclaims, interrupting. One look from Kurt and she snaps her mouth shut and leaves the floor to Santana. 

“I have Britt's eggs. We had them extracted. The doctor asked if we wanted to before they started her treatments and effectively killed them all. They're mine now. And I just – it kills me to think that someone as sweet and kind and good and beautiful never got to leave us with a mini her, you know? I want there to be a mini her running around and confusing the hell outta people with her sunshine and magic. And so I've been thinking about it, having one of her eggs fertilized and – The sale of her dance school will more than pay for it. I just hope whoever buys it doesn't shut it down. All those sweet kids... They adored her.” 

“I think that's a beautiful idea, Santana,” Quinn says. “And we'll all do everything we can to help you out. You can count on us always.”

“And like I said,” Rachel adds, reaching over to grasp one of Santana's hands, “I have a gorgeous second bedroom at my new place. And a den that could easily be turned into a nursery for an adorable baby. Just sayin'. Auntie Rachel at your disposal!” 

Santana smiles and laces her arm through Rachel's. “Auntie Rachel, huh? That actually sounds kind of awesome.” 

The forest around them begins to thin out as the reach the top of the bluff, nothing but small scrub trees and bushes poking out of the rock. They wander to the edge and Kurt looks over. He can see for miles: water and scattered houses and fields like patchwork quilts – verdant green and dull browns and the bright yellow of dandelions. Kurt takes a seat on the sun-warmed rock and takes it all in. Blaine and Rachel sit down on either side of him, but Santana and Quinn remain standing back a little way and speaking in hushed tones. 

“I'm just going to go up a little further,” Quinn says when they've finished talking. “To the next ledge. Do you guys mind staying down here? I just need some time to say goodbye.” 

Everyone nods their heads in understanding and Santana comes over to sit down next to Rachel.

No one says a word. From up above Kurt thinks that he can maybe hear Quinn speaking, but he makes no attempt to listen in on her private words. That's between her and Brittany. Wherever she may be. 

The wind picks up and he sees her fall – dust in the air catching the rays of the sun. Her ashes almost seem to sparkle as they drift through the breeze and scatter down onto the earth below. 

It's a while before Quinn comes back down the rock face to join them. When Kurt catches the sight of her, he makes to get up, all ready to comfort, but Santana beats him to the punch. They embrace, rocking each other to and fro and crying softly. Kurt hears a murmur – something about the Unholy Trinity. He smiles. He has a vision, as clear as day: the three of them in high school, red and white cheerios uniforms and ponytails high and tight. They had been friends long before everything that came after. His smile fades as quickly as it bloomed. At their ages they should be going to high school reunions and gossiping about who looks old and who got fat and who made it big, not attending each others' funerals. 

Blaine must sense his melancholy thoughts, for he reaches across and takes Kurt's hand and twines their fingers together with a reassuring squeeze. He doesn't let go as they get up from the hillside and begin their trek back to the house. 

They let themselves fall behind the girls. 

“Kurt?” Blaine asks, his fingers tightening almost nervously around Kurt's. Kurt can feel the cold sweat of Blaine's palm sliding against his own. 

“Hmm?” Kurt rubs his thumb over the back of Blaine's hand, hoping to convey: _I'm here. It's okay. You can trust me_. It's a lot of work for one barely mobile digit. 

“Can I talk to you about something?” 

“Of course you can, Blaine. Any time at all.” 

“Okay. I well, um... I'm... Like I said to you before, a lot of the artists I'm currently working with are based out of New York, and I've been thinking about it for a while. That is, making the move and making New York my home base. I spend so much time there and I really prefer New York over Los Angeles. I mean, it's not just... I don't want you to feel like it's because of this...” He lifts their joined hands. “... and feel pressured in any way.”

“Hey.” Kurt tugs Blaine's hand, pulling him closer so they're sides are flush together. “I don't, Blaine. Not at all. It would be amazing to have you in New York. To be able to see you all the time. I – I'd love that. I told you this is serious for me, too. Okay?” 

“Okay,” he replies. He sounds and looks shy, his lashes blinking dark against his cheeks as he watches their feet treading on the mossy ground. Kurt bends over just slightly and presses a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

He watches Blaine's soft smile as they follow the girls through the forest towards the main road. 

“Kurt? Um... just because I don't want you to feel pressured, that doesn't mean that I don't want to be with you. Because I do,” Blaine clarifies after a few quiet minutes of walking. 

Kurt swings their hands between their bodies, then lifts them up so that he can hold them over his heart. “I want to be with you, too,” he says. 

Blaine smiles, wide and carefree. The most carefree Kurt can remember seeing him smile for a very, very long time. Maybe the most carefree he has ever seen him smile. “Yeah?” 

“Mmmhmm.” 

They exchange fond glances and smiles and blushes all the rest of the way.

 

The night before nearly everyone leaves they have another bonfire. 

There is more singing, more reminiscing about glee club and performances they managed to pull off, and some of their worst and best moments together. Everyone is upbeat in the beginning, but as the evening winds down things start to get weepy. Kurt stays back from the thick of it, curled up with Blaine is the same lounger they had shared two nights before. Had it really only been two nights? It feels as though an ocean of time has been crossed since then, and Kurt has come out of it dripping with hope and great happiness. 

There are promises made to have a group meet-up at least once every summer, and maybe a Christmas together – everyone with their families. Such promises have been made before and never kept. Kurt has a vague hope in his heart that they will be this time, that Brittany will get her wish and that this group of people so beloved to one another will be able to manage busy lives and schedules to make the most of their time by spending it with all the people they love. He hopes that this, if anything, will make the ache of her death lessen in his heart. That she will have given them all the gift of friendship, not only her own, but everyone else's as well. 

Kurt and Blaine make no such promises. They are not feeling any panic as they sit, hands stroking gently down backs and over sides and in between fingers. They aren't leaving in the morning, but staying another day before travelling back to Lima to stay for a couple more. Their panic can come later. 

Kurt worries that their promises have been as empty as the ones being made all around him – _I'll call you every week at least! As soon as I get home I'll send you a picture. I'm flying out in a month, we'll do lunch!_ Now that he's been with Blaine again the last thing he wants is to be without him. But Blaine said two weeks. Two weeks and he would be in New York for six, and during that time he would begin looking for an apartment and organizing everything for his move across the country. Kurt knows it's a big undertaking. He hopes Blaine is up for it. He hopes they both are. He worries that this seeming beginning will end up being a dead end like so many other things have been in his life. 

But as soon as he looks over at Blaine, really looks at him, he knows those fears are unfounded. Blaine's eyes are soft and gentle and above all else, full of trust. He finds that he is ready and willing to trust them in return. 

 

The departures begin early the next morning. People trickling away in twos and threes with repeated promises of _I'll see you all soon_ on their lips, until no one is left besides Kurt, Blaine, Rachel, Quinn, Santana and Finn. Finn gives Kurt a long hug and takes him aside. 

“I'll see you at home, right bro?” 

“Yeah. I should be there the day after tomorrow. And, Finn – don't tell Dad anything!”

“I won't,” Finn promises. He makes a cross my heart gesture and pulls his bag up on his shoulder. 

“ _Finn_.”

“I won't. I promise, little brother.” 

Kurt nods and hugs him again and Finn waves at the rest of them before heading to his car. 

They spend the remainder of the morning cleaning up, but eventually run out of supplies, so Kurt and Blaine offer to drive into the local village to get some more. 

“Coffee?” Blaine asks, spotting a quaint looking shop on the main street. 

“Sure. Quinn could use a bit longer of a break from cleaning anyway. And I need a jolt of caffeine.” 

Kurt orders his usual and turns to Blaine, who gives his own order to the bored teenaged barista. She scribbles something on the cups and wanders away. Blaine is looking up at Kurt with an adorable pout on his lips. “What?” Kurt asks him, copying his hangdog look and fluttering his eyelashes exaggeratedly. 

“You don't know my coffee order,” Blaine pouts. 

“Aww. I'll learn it again in no time, sweetie!” Kurt rubs a hand over his back and makes more placating noises, trying not to giggle that Blaine remembers the script so well after so long a time. 

They share a slice of lemon pound cake and sip their coffees in the beams of bright sunshine slanting in through the front window. It's a comfortable silence, the scrapes of forks on the plate and gentle sips of coffee and soft sighs and elbows knocking on the table. Kurt feels calm and content, staring with unfocused eyes at a plant in the corner, trying to puzzle out whether it is real or plastic. 

“I love you,” Blaine says, his voice quiet and almost reverent. 

And of course Kurt had just taken a drink of coffee. He tries to swallow it down, but it chokes him, lodged in his throat like a bone instead of a sip of warm liquid. He grabs a napkin from the table to cover his face when he feels it leaking from his nose. 

“Well this is familiar,” he says once he's set himself to rights. 

“I have bad timing,” Blaine says. He's biting his bottom lip and his brow is creased and he's flushed with embarrassment. He's kind of perfect in every imperfect way. 

“The worst timing,” Kurt teases. Blaine chews on his lips some more and looks down at his cup, swirling it around to stir up the coffee within. “And I love you, too,” Kurt adds. Blaine perks up, lifts his head and beams. The sun shining warm on the back of Kurt's neck has nothing on Blaine's smile. 

That morning, Kurt had watched his friends all leave one by one and he had dreaded going himself, leaving this place and these people, his people. But he finds he's ready to leave this short detour from his life now and get back into the thick of things, now that he knows at the centre of it all will be Blaine. It might not be right away, but Kurt is much more patient than he once was and he knows the waiting will have a sweet reward. 

Though there are many empty rooms in the lake house now, Kurt and Blaine decide to stay the final night in Blaine's tent. 

They make love languidly, Kurt rocking gently inside of Blaine's body, holding him close, his arms twined behind Blaine's back. Blaine thrusts up to meet him and presses kisses all over his face and throat, whispering words of love and remembrance and regret and hope. 

“You're beautiful,” Kurt whispers afterwards, still trying to catch his breath as Blaine does the same, beads of sweat on his brow and a perfect pink flush high on his cheeks. His lips are red and kiss bitten as he parts them just slightly, a ragged exhale before he leans forward to abuse them some more against Kurt's own. When they pull back, Kurt traces his fingers over Blaine's cheekbones and down his jawline. His heart feels so full that it's almost in his throat. He chokes it back and places a gentle kiss on Blaine's chin. “I have never loved another person the way I love you, Blaine Anderson,” he says. 

“Me too. _Kurt_. Me too. You're the love of my life.”


	9. Nine

****

Nine

When he gets back to his parents' house the following afternoon, Burt gives him a look. He takes Kurt's suitcase from his hands and wheels it the rest of the way into the hall. “You got somethin' you wanna tell me, Kurt?”

Kurt stumbles a little, bent over removing his shoes, and has to brace himself against the wall to keep from toppling over. He looks up and his dad is still giving him an odd, searching look. “No?” 

Burt huffs and takes off his cap, rubbing his hand over his bare head and placing it back, twisting it a little from side to side before he's satisfied with the positioning. “You sure about that?”

And then Kurt remembers. “Finn!” he yells into the depths of the house. He's not even sure if his brother is over visiting like he said he would be. It turns out that he is. 

“Sorry, bro! It slipped out!”

Kurt grumbles under his breath and finishes taking off his shoes, tossing them violently onto the mat by the door. He feels Burt's gentle hand on his shoulder and looks back up at him. He's got a serene sort of half smile on his face. “Come on, kiddo. I'll fix you something to eat.”

“So, you and Blaine, huh?” Burt says as he's putting together a sandwich. He gets a knife from the rack and slices it neatly in a diagonal line and slides it onto a plate. He grabs a napkin and puts it in front of Kurt, then pulls down a glass from the cupboard. 

“Yeah. We're trying again.” Kurt watches as his dad pours him a glass of juice, something that he normally never drinks, not since he was a kid, but he accepts it gratefully and takes a long swallow. “Do you think I'm crazy?”

He feels his stomach churn with worry. He doesn't need his father's approval, of course he doesn't. He's a grown man and lives his own life and makes his own decisions. But God, he still wants it. He wants Burt to look him over when he comes to visit and not turn away with sad eyes and a furrowed brow, leaving Kurt with an empty feeling like he's the biggest disappointment in the world. He knows that's not the truth – that his dad is proud of him, and that he's just worried, that he just wants Kurt to be happier. Well, he feels as though he has that chance now, to feel complete, and not simply with his career, but with his personal life as well. He wants that empty hole in his heart to be full again the way it hasn't been in years. He knows his dad wants that for him more than anything. 

“Maybe,” Burt says with a shrug and Kurt feels his heart swoop. “But your crazy ideas are usually your best ones.” 

Kurt feels a smile break over his face and watches as Burt's expression softens. He comes over and pushes Kurt's plate and glass away and takes him into his arms. “You look happy, bud,” he says. 

“I am, Dad. I am.” 

 

Kurt drives Blaine to the airport on Saturday night to catch his flight back to L.A. They make no promises, no proclamations. They just embrace and hold on a little bit too long and a little bit too tight. 

“I'll see you in two weeks,” Blaine says. 

“Two weeks. Send me your flight info and I'll meet you at the airport.” 

Blaine nods and smiles and they grasp each others' shoulders and squeeze. They shared their kisses in the car and at Blaine's parents' house when Kurt picked him up. Blaine bends over to retrieve his carry on and throws it over his shoulder. He takes Kurt's hand in his one last time and rubs his thumb over his knuckles, staring into his eyes. He needs no words when his eyes say absolutely everything. He mouths _I love you_ anyway, before turning away to move towards security. 

On the drive back to Lima, Kurt can't seem to stop smiling. He thinks back to one week before when he had been bereft, standing in a funeral suit with his knees knocking together at the thought of seeing all of his old friends, at the thought of singing goodbye to one of the most special people he has ever known. But everything is better now somehow. He feels as though the things he had been missing in his life have slid back into their proper slots and filled him with a renewed purpose, a renewed energy. 

He flips on the stereo and sings along all the way home. He knows it's his last night to spend with his family before he himself boards a plane back to his life, but that's okay. Everything is as it should be. And he knows when his dad takes stock of him the next time he visits, he will turn away with a smile instead of a sad frown. 

 

Blaine doesn't have much luck finding an apartment. He likes Kurt's neighbourhood, but there is nothing available that is the right size, and anything farther away makes him turn up his nose. He wants to stick close, not to have to squander an hour travelling just to spend an evening with Kurt. This makes Kurt laugh, as it had been so recently that he'd needed to travel all the way from California in order to see him. 

Blaine stays at the hotel where his company regularly puts him up during his trips to New York at first. But after he's stayed with Kurt for so many nights in a row that his clothing has become intermixed with Kurt's and they've begun to drop off and pick up each others' dry cleaning, it all seems so pointless. He gives up his room and brings over the rest of his things and stays night after night. They eat breakfast together and whoever gets home first starts dinner if they haven't made plans to go out. It's nice, and sometimes Kurt wonders if this is how it would have been all along had they never split up. It's just so easy and instinctive, this routine they've fallen into. It feels right and good. 

When Blaine's six weeks are up and he needs to get back to Los Angeles to finish packing and organize the movers, he still hasn't found an apartment. 

“Just move in here, Blaine,” Kurt tells him, while he agonizes over the rental section of the paper and the e-mail links for apartments sent to him by his real estate agent. 

He looks up from his laptop with wide eyes. “You'd be okay with that?” he asks. 

Kurt shrugs his shoulders and takes a sip of his tea. “Why not? You've been living here for over a month and it's been pretty great. At least, I think it has been.” When Blaine continues to stare at him, his hands frozen in midair with the newspaper page between them, Kurt begins to worry. “Or, you know, if it's too soon, that's okay too. You can put your things in storage and stay until you find something you like instead. If you think... Is this too soon?” 

“No,” Blaine breathes out. “Ten years too late I'd say.” 

 

The night before Blaine heads back to California, Kurt takes him to Coney Island. He's decided, at last, where he wants to scatter Brittany's ashes. 

They get to the very top of the Wonder Wheel, inching slowly higher as the seats below them are loaded up with other passengers. It's quiet tonight. There aren't many tourists mulling about because of the slight rain that's been spitting off and on all day. It's a pretty evening – the sun reflecting off the clouds in warm tones of orange and pink and red. Blaine's skin literally glows from where he sits next to Kurt, golden in the rays of the setting sun and the twinkle of the Wonder Wheel's many bulbs. Kurt smiles at him and they link hands just as the wheel turns and pitches them forward over the precipice. 

They go around and around a few times. There is a girl below who lets out an unholy screech every time she gets to the top and is sent forward and down again. She reminds Kurt of Rachel and of that day at the fair. He leans to the side and presses his lips to Blaine's cheek just as they round the top and his stomach drops out at the sensation of falling. 

He takes the embroidered bag that contains Brittany's ashes out of his pocket as they're making their way back up, regarding it with sadness. He wishes he could truly believe that she was here with them, that she could understand. That she could know how she is loved and missed and how thankful he is to her for helping to set him on this new, hopeful path. He thinks she would be proud of him. And that she would tell him he deserves it. That he deserves this happiness that is bubbling up inside him every time he sees Blaine smile. 

He pulls the drawstring and waits until they reach the top, then lets her out, lets her drift and float away in the breeze, smiling down on all of the magic and lights and laughter that surrounds them. 

“Goodbye, Britts,” he whispers. “I love you. And I'll never forget you.”

“Thank you,” Blaine adds, his voice equally as quiet and as reverent. He takes Kurt's hand in his again and wipes a tear from his cheek with the other. 

When next they make it to the top they share a kiss, and when Kurt's stomach swoops at the fall this time, he giggles into Blaine's mouth.


	10. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Keri and Allie for all of their help with this one. And thanks to everyone for reading!

****

Epilogue

There is an annoying buzzing sound coming from his bedside table. It carries on for several minutes before Kurt swats at it and it mercifully stops. It's not his alarm, because even in his half-conscious state he realizes that it's Sunday and Blaine turned his alarm off before they had fallen asleep the night before. Blaine stirs beside him, wiping at his sleep encrusted eyes and yawning, his fluffy curls sticking up every which way so adorably that Kurt has to force his eyes to stay open for an extra second just to smile at them.

“Thas your phone,” Blaine grumbles, his slurred voice rough like gravel and thick like molasses. 

Kurt groans and rolls over towards the irritating buzzing that has restarted. And Blaine is right. His phone is literally skidding across the wooden top of the table, knocking into his glass of water and the box of condoms they had left there the night before. 

“If it's somebody from your work calling I'm going to commit murder,” Blaine says as he rolls over, the last few words muffled in his pillow. Kurt is pretty sure they were _those useless fuckers_ , but he's not one hundred percent. 

It makes him chuckle nonetheless, and he retrieves his phone before it can shatter the glass or topple to the floor, yawning hugely through his hello. 

“Kurt! About time you picked up, you lazy little queen.”

“Santana. How lovely to hear your endearments at such an early hour on a Sunday morning.”

“Cut your sass, I need you. I'm in fucking labour here.”

Kurt sits bolt upright, no longer the least bit sleepy, his eyes suddenly clear and his heart racing. “Are you sure?” He cringes, ready for her to tell him off, but it had been the first thing to pop into his head. 

“Yes I'm fucking sure! Hurts like a sonofabitch. Make sure to remind me to call my mother and tell her I worship the fucking ground that she walks on later, will ya? But for right now, get over here. Rachel is at work and unreachable and Quinn is away for the weekend at some shrink love-in. It's you two pretties or no one. So take your dick out of Blainers' ass and get your fancy pants on and get the hell over here!” 

“Yes, right. We'll be right there.” He jumps out of the bed, nearly tumbling over when his feet get entangled in the duvet. Blaine is half sitting now, rubbing a hand through his fluffy curls and eyeing Kurt in confusion. 

“Santana,” Kurt says by way of explanation, hands rummaging haphazardly through first his and then Blaine's underwear drawer, throwing boxers and briefs onto the bed. Next come socks, and Blaine stands up and places a gentle hand on Kurt's arm. 

“What's going on?” 

“The baby's coming.”

Blaine's eyes widen and he starts his own rummaging, tossing a white t-shirt onto the pile on the bed. “No Rachel?”

Kurt shakes his head. 

“Quinn?” 

“Nope. Just us.” 

Kurt struggles into jeans, hopping on one foot, his sock half hanging off while Blaine attempts to pull a shirt over his head while brushing his teeth. It takes them ten minutes all together, and then they're grabbing phones and keys and locking up and sprinting the entire five blocks to the apartment Santana shares with Rachel. 

Santana answers the door, holding onto her bulging tummy and immediately barking out orders. She's got a cab waiting out front she says, and slams her bag into Blaine's chest. Kurt giggles at the _oof_ that comes out of him, but not for long. Santana grabs him by the arm, her long, scarlet nails cutting into his flesh as she screams through a contraction. It's over a moment later and Kurt surreptitiously checks for bleeding. 

“That was the worst one yet,” she says through her gasps. “Let's get this show on the road.” 

Once in the cab, Santana gets a little overwhelmed. She had been keeping it together out of necessity, Kurt supposes, since she'd been alone and needed to get organized, but now that she has someone to hold her up, she's beginning to unravel at the edges. 

“It hurts, it hurts, it hurts,” she pants through another contraction, squeezing Kurt's hand and Blaine's knee, big, fat tears rolling over her cheeks. Once it passes, she sits back against the seat. Blaine peels her hand from around his poor abused kneecap and holds it in his. 

“We're nearly there,” he reassures. “It'll be okay.”

“How do you know that? You don't! What if something happens to me?”

“Nothing is gonna happen, Santana. It's going to be fine,” Kurt tells her, but her glare shuts him up before he can say anything more. 

“Anything could happen,” she snaps. “Britts was supposed to be fine, too, and she's dead!” She starts sobbing, holding both of their hands to the top of her protruding belly. “I could die in childbirth, or get sick, or get hit by a bus or poisoned by tainted steak... No one knows. I need to ask you guys... Will you be the guardians? Will you look after Brittany's baby if something happens to me?” 

Kurt sucks in a breath, his startled eyes finding Blaine's from over the top of Santana's head. Blaine gives him a small smile and nods and Kurt breathes out. “Okay. We can do that. If you're sure you don't want Quinn or Rachel...”

“No. I want you two. Quinn and Rachel are both single and I don't want to mess with their futures by sticking them with my kid. You two aren't going anywhere. Hell, it'd be a free kid so you don't have to pay someone to grow one for you or wait twenty years to get one from the state adoption agency. I hear that can be hell _oh_ , shit... Not again...” 

Kurt winces as she twists his wrist, her fingernails cutting into the tender flesh of his palm. Santana starts to breathe deeply in and out and Kurt finds himself getting lightheaded, only to realize when Blaine reaches across to taps his cheek that he's been doing it along with her. 

The cab driver looks relieved when he drops them at the emergency doors of the hospital, glad that it hadn't been necessary to aide in the delivery of the baby, Kurt supposes. You hear so many stories like that, most likely horror stories to drivers with pregnant passengers. 

There is a nurse there with a wheelchair, but Santana waves her away. She is walking in of her own accord, she informs them. Kurt and Blaine shrug their shoulders and give the lady a smile and walk closely at Santana's side the entire way to the maternity ward. 

The delivery is bloody and scream filled (mostly Kurt and Blaine's as Santana decimates each of their hands in turn), but after several gruelling hours, he comes out, bright red and shrieking. 

“Damn, look at the sack on that kid,” is the first thing Santana says, leaning back, panting against the hospital bed, sweat beaded on her forehead and upper lip. She looks a little shell shocked. 

“The genitalia are always swollen at birth,” the doctor explains with a laugh. “They'll go down to normal size soon.”

“Huh. Too bad. Any kid of mine's gonna need a good set of cajones.” 

They wipe him off and wrap him in a blanket, resting him on Santana's chest. He immediately turns his head to the side, searching blindly for food. “Do you think he looks like her?” Santana asks quietly, running her fingers delicately over his face and tiny hands. “I want him to look like her.”

“It's too soon to tell. But his hair looks light,” Blaine says. He pulls up the blanket and wipes a bit of the blood from the baby's hair. It does look blond. And quite possibly curly. 

“Yeah. Suppose I should wait 'til his head's back to normal shape first.” She bends her own head down and presses her lips to his forehead and whispers, “sorry you had to go through so much to get here, kid. Hopefully it won't cause a lifelong phobia of enclosed spaces or vaginas.” 

Blaine laughs and Santana grins up at him. “Guess that explains you two, huh?”

Kurt smiles distractedly as they banter back and forth, cooing over the tiny boy. But he can't make himself join in. All he can do is stare, transfixed, at the way he has his intricate little fingers wrapped around his mother's and how he knows just by instinct to look for food amongst the soft folds of her chest. 

The nurse takes him away again as the doctor checks on Santana. “I'm going to call him Charlie,” she says, her eyes never leaving the nurse and her new son. “Britt would have liked that name, I think.” 

“It's beautiful,” Blaine tells her. “And I think you're right.” 

Kurt follows Blaine out of the delivery room when the nurse gets Santana up to help her into the shower. He paces along the wall in front of the chairs. He's already sent all of the texts he can send and made all the phone calls there are to make. He has so much energy now, when such a short while ago he had been exhausted. 

“Hey,” Blaine whispers, standing in front of him and placing hands on his shoulders, effectively stopping him in his tracks. “Is something wrong? You've hardly said a peep.” 

“I want one,” Kurt blurts out. “Like, right now. Please? Let's get married.” 

Blaine's eyes widen and his hands slacken their hold on Kurt's shoulders and _oh_. Too soon. Or maybe Blaine doesn't want that at all. Kurt begins to pull away slowly, Blaine's hands sliding fully from his arms before he shakes his head, coming back to himself. 

“Um... well, we're going to need to get a licence and your dad and Carole at the very least. And probably Finn and Cooper, maybe my parents. If we do it while Quinn is out of town she will kill us, and we should probably call Rachel... You know what? On second thought, not Cooper. Ever since he played a Justice of the Peace on that soap opera he thinks he can really marry people...” 

“You want – You _want_ to marry me?” 

“Of course I do. Since I was sixteen.” 

Kurt blinks back tears as Blaine takes him into his arms. “Did you think...?”

“You looked like you were panicking.” 

“I wasn't.”

“Looked like it.”

“I wasn't panicking; I was planning. Promise.”

“Okay.” 

“Okay.” 

Blaine presses his lips to Kurt's, his mouth still stretched into a wide smile. “That baby is pretty damn cute,” he says against Kurt's cheek. 

“Looked like a cross between a monkey and a hairless cat Rachel once tried to get me to buy at a pet store,” Kurt says with a breathless laugh. “Yeah. He was beautiful.” 

“So you want one, huh?”

“Yeah. I really, really do.”

“Me too.” 

“Your sperm,” they both say in unison and then break up laughing. 

“Sperm cocktail it is,” Kurt says, and Blaine kisses the side of his neck.


End file.
